


From Ashes

by Torpor



Series: Embers of War [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Psychosis, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpor/pseuds/Torpor
Summary: As Faerghus reels in the aftermath of the Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri finds himself isolated and vulnerable as his uncle works to steal the throne. Though they all want what is best for him, no one but Dedue will listen to him. His luck changes with a chance encounter, and soon they find themselves struggling to uncover the truth of the Tragedy right under his uncle's nose.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Gilbert Pronislav, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Original Female Character(s), Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Rufus Blaiddyd, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Embers of War [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007976
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Three Houses uses a lot of very interesting political window dressing that never gets explored, and i think that's a shame. Rufus should have been the Claudius to Dimitri's Hamlet.
> 
> This is actually an updated version of another fic i wrote. I've reused a lot of the original draft since being medicated made me realize it actually wasn't bad and probably didn't need to be redone. Oh well, the best I can do to do better this time around. 
> 
> Because I have several chapters already written, my goal is to keep up the momentum and post every week. There'll be two chapters posted this week since the Prologue doesn't have any of that sweet Dimitri content in it, so look forward to that on Friday. 
> 
> Please let me know how I'm doing, feedback is very welcome and comments and kudos feed writers.

_ The sky was choked out by acrid black smoke. His lungs burned with every breath, and he gagged at the taste of burned flesh and ash on his tongue. His boots sank into the earth–turned to mud by the blood spilled there. _

_ He could hear the clatter of weapons, and screams of pain; but it was his father’s last words that rang loudest in his ears. Despite everything, he felt no fear. There was only an aching emptiness. His head hurt, and his throat burned; though whether it came from thirst, the smoke, or his screams, he couldn’t say. _

_ He paused at the sound of footsteps. They sounded purposeful, but unhurried; like his father’s had always been. He turned towards the sound and saw a man closing in on him; his sword drawn. He knew he should be afraid, that he should try to run; but he was tired. It is then, as the man raised his blade to strike, that he realized that not only was he unafraid, he was  _ **_glad_ ** _. _

***

She woke screaming. She screamed and screamed until her throat hurt and her ears rang. Every shadow was a man with his sword raised, every sound an enemy. Her door opened with a clatter and her parents hurried inside, wrapped in their housecoats.

“What is going on with you, Girl?” her mother asked.

Veronica trembled and wheezed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mouth tasted of ashes and blood; and she could remember the brassy tang of war horns as though she’d truly been there. She needed water terribly. She yelped as her mother pinched the back of her arm. 

“I… had a bad dream, Mother. It was unpleasant.” 

“Unpleasant seems to be an understatement. Come. Tell me about this dream, and I will get you some water.”

She rose and followed obediently, keeping her eyes on her mother’s back as she led the way down to the kitchen. None but a handful of guards stirred within the castle, but they only nodded as they passed. It was quiet enough that she could still hear the sounds of death and battle echoing in her mind.

The kitchen was dark, but her mother lit the lamps with a snap of her fingers; her command over her magic as effortless as ever. Veronica watched as she took a mug from the cupboard and worked the pump a moment to draw water from the well. She murmured a quiet ‘thank you,’ and sipped slowly to wash the bitterness of the ash away.

“Now Veronica, I must ask; was this only a dream, or did you  _ see _ something?” Her mother asked.

“I… think I saw something, Mother.”

She  _ knew  _ she had, but she couldn’t say what it had been; nor when it would happen. She could not even tell who the boy was, or where he was, or  _ why _ he was there. 

“I see. Tell me about it, then.” 

Veronica finished her drink and placed the mug down, chewing her lip in thought. The images still flashed through her mind, almost too quick to comprehend. The boy, the blade, the sky, the blood. She felt she could go mad with grief if she thought about it too long. 

“There… was a boy. Blond, I think. It was hard to tell with the smoke, but I feel that he was blonde. He had survived something horrible… there was so much death; and there was fighting. Before I woke, he was going to be killed by a soldier with a sword; and I felt his relief. It was awful.”

She couldn’t stop the tremor that ran through her. She didn’t know who the boy was, or what his fate would be, or how to avoid it; but she knew she  _ wanted _ to. It felt important.  _ He _ felt important. He felt both familiar and not as though she’d met him and then forgot. 

“Is that all? You don’t know who the boy was?” Her mother asked. She nodded and winced when her mother shot her a disapproving look. 

“Yes, Mother. That is all. I didn’t see his face.” 

Veronica chewed her lip as she watched her mother consider what she’d said, a worried look in her eyes. Her mother was so rarely troubled; or at least, she let no one see.

“Very well. Get back to bed, you’ve got a long day ahead.”

Her mother’s tone was firm, just shy of scolding. Despite knowing she would get no more sleep that night, Veronica obeyed. She was not inclined to test the limits of her mother’s good mood.

Her father greeted her at the top of the stairs and draped his arm around her shoulders, ushering her back towards her bedroom. He kissed the top of her head and closed the door behind them, tucking the covers back around her.

“Don’t think too harshly of your mother, dear. She has never been good with these sorts of things, but she worries for you.” he eased himself down on the edge of her bed, and brushed away an errant lock of hair. 

“Yes, Father…” she yawned and rolled to face him, catching his hand in hers. He smiled down at her, his pale eyes full of unspoken things. Veronica would ask him why her mother was the way she was one day, but not tonight.

“Goodnight, Little Nightingale. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Papa.” 

As her father left her, she could swear she heard a voice whispering to her in the darkness, like some grim portent that only she and the Forest knew. Whatever they did to avoid her vision would fail. She knew this as surely as she knew the sun would rise.

*** 

“You’re sure?” 

Veronica paused at the sound of her father’s voice. It was rare to overhear a conversation between her parents. She leaned close to the door and listened, curious about the tenseness in her father’s tone.

“Of course I’m sure, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I weren’t, Darling.” Her mother’s voice was clipped and irritated. 

“Why would our contacts disappear? Have we changed anything?” Her father asked.

“No, nothing. We are doing the same things we always have. Pay has remained the same, our drop locations are the same; I’m at a loss, but… hm.”

“What is it?” 

“Veronica’s vision last night… I hadn’t thought too much of it at the time; it was troubling, but incomplete. But... a vision  _ and _ trouble with our informants a week before Lambert and his family go to Duscur? It stinks, Lucian.” Irritation changed to worry.

“I agree. I’ll tell Emrys to keep his ears open, and we’ll do the same. Worry not, Dearest; we’ll get to the bottom of it yet.”

“I fear we may want to be more proactive than that. I believe the boy Veronica saw was the Prince. If that’s the case, then watching and waiting would be unwise. I believe we should warn Lambert, at the very least.”

Veronica heard pacing within–her father. Her father always paced when he was anxious. 

“Are you sure that’s wise? It may weaken our position further if word got out; and I’m not fond of the idea that we may expose Veronica as a Seer. So many have been killed in the past.”

“That was over a hundred years ago, they’ve not tried to roast us yet. Peace, dear; she will be safe. Lambert is many things, but a child slayer is not one of them. You know this as well as I. Besides, her ability comes from one of the Church’s beloved Crests, not our magic. They will not kill her.” Her mother’s tone was weary as she heaved a sigh, followed by the creaking of a chair.

“Maybe not, but they may seek to use her. I dislike that thought too,” her father said. “She’s my little girl, Maeve.”

“ _ That _ is nothing new. We have been used for generations. Enough, I’ve decided; Veronica and I will travel to Fhirdiad in the morning and we will share what we know. I’ll not have Blaiddyd blood on my hands. Not now when we’ve made such strides in improving the relationship between our families.” There was a beat of silence, and when her mother spoke again; her voice was soft. “She is  _ my _ little girl, too. I wouldn’t put her in danger.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I realize now that sounded like an accusation. Do what you think best; I am here.”

Veronica hurried away down the hall, back towards the library–where she meant to be. It felt wrong to eavesdrop on such an intimate moment between her parents. Most thought them detached and cold, but they kept their love for each other close. Love was a dangerous thing; a weapon when used well. It was a thing best hidden. She had learned that early as a child, and she knew that she would likely do the same as a wife and mother. It was for the best. 

*** 

“What are you making, Girl?” 

Veronica jolted and sat up straight, nearly pricking her finger on the fine copper wire. Her mother stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

“Oh! Um… well it’s–”

“Speak up. No one will take you seriously if you stammer like that.”

“Apologies, Mother. It’s a protective charm.” 

Her mother held our hand in a silent command. Veronica handed her work over to her, careful not to jostle it too much.

“Your wrapping has gotten better. Is this for the boy in your dream?” Her mother asked. Her eyes were knowing, but she said nothing about her eavesdropping. 

“Yes… I don’t know him, but I don’t want him to die.”

Her mother nodded and returned the piece; a satisfied expression on her face. Veronica couldn’t tell whether it was because she’d improved in the art of charm making, or if it was what she’d said.

“You’ll be coming with me tomorrow; you can give it to him then. You’re too soft, Veronica. There are those that will seek to take advantage of you; never forget that.”

“I won’t, Mother.”

With a nod, her mother gave her shoulder a squeeze and made her way towards the door, pausing in the doorway. “Supper is almost ready, and then I expect you to go to bed. Be sure to finish that soon.” 

***

Veronica nearly tripped on her skirt as she hurried after her mother’s long strides. Their heels echoed on the fine slate floor as the Royal steward led them up to the solar. She tried to look straight ahead, rather than admire the art of Castle Blaiddyd, but it was difficult. It truly was breathtaking, especially the stained glass windows.

While her family and home had once been impressive, time and wars had taken their toll. There was little grandeur at Castle Llwyd. Their library was their largest point of pride, though many of the books within would be useless to most people. Perhaps most would feel jealous, but all she found was indifference. Much of the posturing of nobility was pointless and exhausting.

“His Majesty is very busy, Madam; please don’t take it personally if he hasn’t the time to speak with you. This meeting is so sudden,” the steward said. His tone suggested that he believed them too unimportant to speak with the King.

“Good sir, I am a Countess, not a fishmonger’s wife; if I have news, His Majesty would do well to hear it.” Her mother’s tone was amiable; pleasant, even; but only a fool would miss the warning in it.

“Ah… yes. I apologize, My Lady. I forgot myself.”

“A dangerous mistake. It’s fortunate that I’m so kind.”

Rather than reply, the steward brought them to a set of doors at the top of the stairs. He opened them without hesitation and bowed at the waist.

“Your Majesty, you have guests.”

“Maeve? What brings you to Fhirdiad? It’s been… two years, at least.”

Veronica hazarded a glance at her mother and was shocked to find her smiling.

“I thought to pick the old family feud up. I’m bored, Lamby. Entertain me.”

The change in her tone was such that Veronica stared. She’d never heard her mother speak so casually with anyone but her father. She shot a nervous glance towards the King, only to find him grinning.

“You haven’t called me that in what? Fifteen years? I was beginning to think you no longer cared.”

Her mother sobered then, her expression softening in a way she’d rarely seen. She’d never met the King in such an intimate setting; it had always been in public, during stuffy social events. They’d never spoken personally, and she’d hardly ever seen her mother so unguarded. Were they better friends than she knew? 

“That’s why I’ve come, Lambert. Are you  _ certain _ you must go to Duscur?” 

“You too? You and Rodrigue are going to worry yourselves to death, old friend. Is there something I should know?” The King straightened, bringing himself up to his full, imposing height.

“Well…” her mother heaved a sigh, “our contacts have gone silent. We attempt to get in touch and hear nothing. We’ve not seen hide nor hair of them. Such a thing so soon before you’re set to travel… I dislike it. Can you at least postpone the trip until we’ve had time to investigate?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve already put it off once because of the blizzard, and it’s imperative that I see to this. I know there are risks, Maeve; but this alliance will bring peace, and may convince Sreng to sit down with us.”

“Then I must ask that you reconsider bringing your wife and son. You may be willing to pay any price; and that is your right as a man, but we can’t lose all of you, should the worst come to pass.” Her mother’s voice wavered, as though she were close to tears.

“I have my reservations, but it’s important that our neighbors trust us. With them there, I hope that they will believe my intentions are good. Believe me when I say that if it weren’t politically necessary, they’d stay behind,” the King said. He sounded heavy, as though the world were pressing down on him. 

“Well, I don’t have a rebuttal for that, but... I hope that you will be cautious.” Her mother paused and glanced down, her lips pursed, “Veronica, don’t you have something you’d like to give him?”

Veronica jolted as her mother gave her a slight push towards the King. She stumbled and heard a quiet sigh behind her. She forced herself to stand up straight to avoid disappointing her mother further. She reached into her pocket and pulled the small charm from within, holding it out to him with a trembling hand. The King took it gently, his large palm enveloping it.

“It… will protect him.”

“Thank you, Lass. I’ll be sure he wears it.” He placed a gentle hand on the top of her head, the gesture natural and affectionate. She wondered briefly if her own family’s reticence was odd. “She looks very much like you, Maeve. I haven’t seen her in a few years, but I see the resemblance now.”

Veronica frowned. She knew it was untrue; because her mother was pretty, and she wasn’t. She could remember with perfect clarity how her aunt had lamented how she’d taken so much after her father. ‘Too much von Vestra in that one,’ she’d said.

“She’s been busy, as I imagine young Dima has been.”

_ Dima?  _ She glanced back over her shoulder, questions burning on her tongue. Her mother didn’t even call her or her siblings by pet names; why would the Prince have one?

“He’s in the garden, I could send for him, if you’d like; or perhaps Veronica could go play while we get caught up? You could stay for supper,” the King said.

“No, I’m afraid we can’t. There’s much to do, especially if I can’t dissuade you from this. We will lend you some of our soldiers; we haven’t many, but our scouts will prove useful, I should think. They are at your disposal, use them as you see fit.” Despite her soft tone, her grip was firm when she pulled Veronica back to her side. 

“That’s a pity. I’m sure Dima would have appreciated the company. He’s been lonely since… well…”

“Perhaps when you return, Lamby. Take care and make us proud. I would hate for our neighbors to know what a buffoon you are.” 

The King laughed, the sound big and boisterous. His openness and warmth was fascinating. None in her family had anything like it. Her family was often dour and always distant; transient as ghosts, but he felt so human. 

“I look forward to it. Take care until then, my friend.” He bowed low, and they did the same before her mother pulled her away. She looked back one more time, and the King smiled sadly at her, with something like sympathy in his eyes. She wanted to ask him what his meaning was, but there was no time before the door closed between them. 

*** 

“I have something to show you, Girl. Come with me,” her mother said. 

Veronica eased herself from the carriage and followed; careful to keep up, but not too closely. She couldn’t help but feel that her mother was angry with her, though she couldn’t say why. They made their way through the great hall and down through the kitchen. Her stomach growled at the smell of food, but her mother didn’t mention it if she noticed. They’d not eaten since breakfast, and the sun was setting now. They were headed down into the basement–to the vault.

“Mother?” 

“What?” Her mother’s voice was loud in the cavernous expanse of the castle’s underbelly.

“Do you think something bad will happen?” She could think of no other reason that she would take her to the vault.

“I don’t know. I know it’s out of our hands now; we’ve done what we could. Regardless, I think it best to be prepared.”

There was something she wasn’t telling her. She wouldn’t grant her such a responsibility for no reason. She wasn’t admitting it, but she was far more worried than she let on. Veronica tucked the thought away to examine later. 

After a moment, they came to a stop before a wall at the end of the path. It seemed to be made of the same gray stone as the rest, but she could sense magic pouring from it. She looked up at her mother, waiting.

“Well? Find it.”

A test, then. She’d always imagined the vault to be a simple door with a lock and key; not something like this. Veronica placed her hand against the stone and focused, trying to calm her magic. It always flared when she reached for it, like a wild animal fighting against a cage. She fought it down and let the energy bleeding through the rock to flow over her and lead her where it may. She stopped in front of a section of the wall down the hall and touched a smooth, rounded stone in the center; it thrummed beneath her hand, like a heartbeat. She rapped her knuckles against it and was rewarded with the sound of grinding stone. 

She looked back at her mother, who smiled as the rocks rearranged themselves. There was a door now–heavy and wooden–set into a wide arch. 

“Well done. You’ve improved since the last time we tried something like this. We’ll tame that magic of yours yet.” 

Her mother cupped her cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. Veronica beamed, her heart swelling at the praise. It came rarely, but it was always worth it when she earned it. It always made her want to work harder, so she could earn more.

“Now that you’ve found the door, why don’t you try to find the key? I’ll let you see inside if you do.”

“Yes, Mother.” 

*** 

The news came on a beautiful day. The King and Queen were dead, Glenn Fraldarius was dead; the people of Duscur slaughtered. The Prince had survived, but only just. Veronica wondered why she hadn’t made three charms instead of the one. Why hadn’t she had that vision sooner? Why hadn’t it been more useful? Why couldn’t  _ she _ be more useful? She could never face the Prince, and he would never forgive her if he knew–and she couldn’t blame him. She wondered if he was back in Fhirdiad, or if he was still travelling. It had been three days; how long was the trip from Duscur? 

Beside her, her cousin sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Daphne had always been more capable of expressing herself. She made friends easily. She knew the Prince far better than she did, despite being a year younger than them both. Sometimes she envied Daphne; she was prettier, brighter, and more sociable. She’d never accidentally hurt anyone, either.

“Veronica… I wish Bastian were here.” 

“Me too. He’d know what to say. I’m afraid all I can offer is my presence; I don’t know what to do, I’m sorry.” Sebastian had always been the best of them. He was clever, funny, and kind; she could think of no one who disliked her elder brother. 

“No, I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ ! I’m  _ glad _ you’re here; I just wish he were home. Garreg Mach is so far away, and I’m afraid of what may happen if he travels home.”

“I doubt they’ll allow it. He’s not lost any family, so allowing him to leave wouldn’t make sense. He’s safer there than we are here,” Veronica said. She had been feeling anxious all day. Though she’d had no further visions, the tension remained. Was there still more tragedy to be had? 

“I guess that’s true. What do you suppose they’re talking about, anyway? They’ve been holed up in there all day.

“I don’t know; but if I had to guess, I’d say they’re probably trying to understand the incident so they may act. Without our informants, we didn’t see this coming; and we can’t know who did it or why.” 

_ And we won’t see anything  _ **_else_ ** _ coming either _ . 

“You don’t suppose they  _ believe _ the people of Duscur did this, do you?” Daphne asked, wringing her handkerchief between anxious fingers, “Why would they? They wouldn’t gain much, and it’s not as though Duscur is known for its military might. Father says they’re good and sensible people.”

“I doubt it. Even  _ if _ someone from Duscur was involved, such a thing is…  _ unnecessary _ . I don’t understand the Grand Duke’s reaction. He ignored both Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier. I’d always thought the High Lords worked together in such a situation.” 

“Where did you hear that?” 

“I overheard our parents talking this morning. Mother received a letter from the Duke telling her about it. She sounded worried.” 

Daphne hummed, peering through the dusk at the town in the distance. Before she could say more, a winded scout interrupted them.

“Lady Llwyd!” 

“What is it?” Veronica waited as the man huffed and heaved as he fought to find his breath.

“An army is marching on the castle, My Lady! They’re flying Blaiddyd colors; the barbican has fallen.” 

Veronica felt as if she’d been plunged into the sea. Her breath left her as the words settled in and the dread she’d felt all day finally made sense. She’d not seen it coming, but she’d  _ known _ . Why hadn’t she said anything? Would it have made any difference? 

“Very well… I will… alert my mother; you rally those that remain and prepare to defend.” She felt as though she were viewing the situation at a distance, but came back to herself when she met Daphne’s eyes. “Come. You need to get Roisin and Weylin ready to go if it comes to it. I’ll meet you in the great hall.”

Daphne nodded. Though the fear was still there, she seemed calmer now that she had something to do. She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

*** 

She knocked hard on the door, but didn’t wait for permission to enter. There was no time for politeness, and she knew they would understand.

“Mother, there’s an emergency!” Veronica said, closing the door behind herself.

“Well speak up, then.” Her mother frowned deeply. If things weren’t so dire, she would have wilted beneath the strength of her mother’s disapproval.

“A scout from the barbican has told me that we are under attack. An army flying Blaiddyd colors is marching our way. The barbican has already fallen.”

The irritation bled from her mother’s face, and briefly, fear replaced it. It was a striking expression; she’d never seen it before, but it quickly morphed into something akin to amusement.

“Very well, then. You will take the others and ride to the next town. Your uncle will follow you. No matter what, you mustn’t stop, do you understand?”

“But mother, what about–” The sting of her mother’s hand startled her. She’d not noticed that she’d moved, and that she would strike her had never crossed her mind.

“Be silent! We don’t have the time for your stupid questions, Girl. Gather the others and go!” She gave her a shove towards the door. When Veronica righted herself and looked back, it shocked her to see tears brimming in her mother’s eyes. “We will protect you, but you  _ must _ do this. Emrys will be along, he will find you. Please.” 

Veronica took a deep breath and nodded, her heart aching as her mother and father turned to share a look. Her uncle met her eyes for a moment before he rummaged through the desk. It didn’t take foresight to know that they would never see each other again. 

She forced herself to turn away, and she ran to the great hall where Daphne and her siblings waited. She didn’t bother explaining and instead kept running toward the stables. Around them, she could hear the distant roar of battle, the thundering of hooves, the brassy wail of horns and the taste of it was horrific. The mood of the moment was bleak. They’d lost so many good soldiers in Duscur. They had no chance against a fresh, well outfitted Royal Army. No matter what happened, nothing would ever be the same.

She hauled Roisin up into the saddle and then climbed up herself. She winced as the girl clung to her waist and buried her face against her back, her grip too tight. A young man extended a simple sword towards her, his expression grave. Veronica took it and prayed to any god that might hear that she wouldn’t need to use it. 

“Veronica? Where are they?” Daphne asked, her voice trembling.

“Your father will follow us. We must go before they have time to surround us.” 

_ If they haven’t already _ .

Daphne asked no more questions; what she had omitted was enough to answer any that may remain. Her siblings wept softly, but she didn’t have the heart to reprimand them. They were only ten, and they were afraid. 

The back gate opened, and Veronica nudged her horse forward, leaning into his gallop. On either side of the lane was the denseness of Coedwig Bywyd; and she wondered if they could hide, if it came to it. Would hiding be enough? Children disappeared in the forests of Faerghus all the time; could they do it on purpose?

Soon the trees closed in around them, creating a canopy that blocked out the sky. They would be safe from warriors on wyverns and pegasi, but they wouldn’t see an archer until it was too late.

Veronica gasped as her horse lurched to a sudden halt, his sides heaving. Daphne’s stopped beside him, following his lead. Veronica nudged and clicked her tongue, patting at his neck to soothe him, but to no avail.

“Veronica?”

“What is it?” Veronica followed Daphne’s gaze and her stomach turned. Mist where before there had been none.  _ Magic _ . She swore and kicked, hoping pain would convince the horse to move, but still he remained frozen. Frozen in fear, she realized. “Everyone down. We hide until Uncle Emrys arrives.” 

She took Roisin’s hand and gripped the sword, doing what she could to remain calm. She was the eldest and best trained among them. It wouldn’t do to lose her bravery now.

“Going somewhere?” Drawled a voice from somewhere up ahead. 

“Show yourself!” Veronica squeezed her sister’s hand for a moment before releasing it to prepare a spell. She could feel magic crawl through her veins, the power within her surging like a black, violent sea.

People emerged from the mist, all hooded and masked. They’d surrounded them while their horses had stopped. She saw Daphne move beside her and could feel the magic moving in her. They couldn’t win, but they would fight regardless. Maybe it would give her uncle time to catch up, maybe the little ones could escape. Maybe they could all live to see the morning.

“Now, now. We’re not going to hurt you. We need you–”

Veronica released the spell, and as she had hoped it would, her magic flared savagely. The bolt struck the man in the chest and then leapt to another and then forked. It struck another but overshot the person to their left, setting a tree alight instead. The three men fell–dead–and the smell of burning hair and wood filled the air. Daphne lashed out then, releasing a wide arc of fire to their rear. For a moment, it seemed that they could fend them off until help came; but then came a scream.

“Roisin!”

That was all it took. A momentary distraction, and they were on them. Hands grabbed, pulled, and wrenched the sword from her grasp. She clawed and bit and lashed out with fists and magic, but it did no good. When one fell back, another replaced them. The last thing she remembered before the world went black was the sight of flames rising over the trees.

  
  
  
  



	2. A New Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and half after the Tragedy, Dimitri finds himself frustrated and desperate to reclaim his life. Stymied by all around him, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned that there are some suicidal thoughts at the beginning of this chapter, so please take care of yourself. It's short, but explicit. 
> 
> Please let me know how I'm doing, and I hope you're having a great day.

Dimitri watched as the whales sprayed and dove, chasing prey he couldn’t see. The wind whipping off the coast was cold and salty, the sky a magnificent shade of blue. He watched as a gull rose on the breeze, its mournful cry carrying on into the morning. He would never know peace like this again, he knew. This moment was the pinnacle of his joy. 

He looked down at the rocks below. He could just make out the broken prow of a sunken ship—a whaling vessel, maybe—sticking out of the frothing waves. It was mesmerizing, the way the water crashed and foamed. If he were to throw himself from the cliff, the waves would carry him far away from the pain of the world. If he did it right, it wouldn’t even hurt. 

His scalp prickled, the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end, his heart thundered. He was alive, and they were not. He did nothing to deserve life when they had died. He took a step forward, feeling weightless as he heard a pebble fall from the cliff. It was so close… so  _ easy _ .

“Ah! There you are, Dima! I had been wondering where you’d gotten off to,” Rodrigue said. Dimitri froze and stepped back, a sense of shame and horror taking over him. That he would think to take his own life rather than fulfill his purpose… he truly was as cowardly as Glenn said; and he knew that Rodrigue  _ knew _ .

“Forgive me, I was… lost in thought. Have you need of me, Rodrigue?”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that, Dima. Why don’t we take a ride, dear boy? You seem like you could use some time away from your thoughts,” he said. There was a tightness in his voice that told him he was just barely holding something back; though whether it was anger or fear, Dimitri couldn’t tell.

Dimitri made his way towards him, careful now that he was not alone. Rodrigue took his arm and patted his hand as he cradled it in the crook of his elbow.

“There’s a good lad. Now let’s be on our way to the stables.”

Dimitri allowed himself to be pulled along, but couldn’t help but look back at the cliff. He remembered well the sound of the pebble bouncing off the sheer, jagged rocks and the crashing of the waves below. He remembered the sense of peace and the moment of elation, but now there was only stillness…  _ emptiness _ . He’d been a void for a long time, it seemed. 

“You’re alright, my boy. We’ll just take a ride and forget about that. There’s no need to tremble so,” Rodrigue said.

No one ever talked about these things in Faerghus—it was inappropriate—but, just this once, he wished they’d get it out of the way. He needed to talk. He needed to let the pain and grief out. He needed to be acknowledged for the child he was, but there was no one out there to do it. He knew the misery would fester in him as it did everyone else. He would live and die with the weight of it upon his chest.

***

The swaying gait of the horse beneath him was soothing. He admired the changing leaves and stroked his mount’s dappled neck as the gelding took him far away from the cliff, the sea, and the image of himself dropping like a stone into the frothing waves. There in the forest, his mind wandered to new possibilities. 

“Say, Rodrigue?”

“Hmmm?”

“When will I be returning to Fhirdiad?” he asked. 

Rodrigue was silent for a long moment, as though his question were a truly weighty one. Dimitri knew from that silence that it would be a long time before they allowed him to go home. He was to be sequestered, away from his family and out of the public eye until everyone else deemed him fit to be among the living again.

“Your uncle will arrive early tomorrow morning. He wants to check in on you and speak with me about the current state of affairs. If he feels you’re ready to return, then we shall all leave here together.”

Dimitri grit his teeth, but said nothing. His uncle was the last person he wanted to see, and Rodrigue of all people knew that. His godfather shot him a sidelong glance, his blue eyes flickering with something akin to amusement.

“Now, now. Do try to be civil, Dima. The better you behave, the more likely it is that he’ll take you home.”

“I shall be as civil as that drunken whoremonger deserves.”

Rodrigue barked a laugh, shaking his head in sad bemusement. No doubt he was thinking of Glenn.

“That drunken whoremonger is still your uncle, and our current sovereign, lad. He has stewardship of us all. It’s best if you don’t rock the boat too much.”

_ Be a good boy and don’t argue. _

“I thought that perhaps I should undertake the Helfa Blaidd. I know it’s a little early, but—”

“No.” 

Rodrigue’s tone was uncommonly hard. Normally, even when he was scolding him, his voice was gentle. In this moment, he was firm, as though this were the final say.

“Grandfather did it early,” Dimitri said.

“Your Grandfather had three other siblings and a time of peace and prosperity. You are the only legitimate heir, and we have just suffered the greatest tragedy in a century. Not only would the people panic, those of us that love you would grieve. I’ll not let you take such a risk. Say no more about this. Put it out of your mind.”

Rodrigue seemed truly convinced that he would die. Had he no faith in him? He’d been taught how to survive, how to hunt. He felt a sense of indignation creeping up within him. Rodrigue knew he was no helpless whelp! He was the Crown Prince of Faerghus! 

“I know you only want what is best for the people, Dima. I know how you think. But I’m telling you that the best thing for them right now is for you to  _ survive _ and take the throne when you’re ready. They need you to focus on becoming their  _ King _ . Worry about yourself for now, and your uncle and I will do what we must.”

As far as he was concerned, that was all the permission he needed. This was something he needed to do. He needed to regain some control over his life, and he’d never be able to do that if he remained a boy. If Rodrigue wouldn’t help, then he would have to do it alone.

“Very well, Rodrigue. I’ll trust you.”

“Thank you. Now let us return to the castle, dear boy. We’ve been gone for some time. At this rate, Gustave may well send out the searchers.”

***

The smell of musty parchment and aged leather met him as he stepped into the castle’s library. He chewed his lip as he gazed down the rows of tomes and scrolls. Where did he even begin? The winter palace was equipped with a large enough library for his purposes, but it was hardly as grand as the one in Fhirdiad. Was it considered history, perhaps?

“Do you need help, Your Highness?” 

He jumped at the sound of a voice nearby, his hand flying to his chest. The librarian peered at him from over her round spectacles, making her appear owlish and weary. Her white hair and papery skin were right at home in the dusty, stuffy library. He flashed his most winning smile and relaxed.

“Yes, actually. I was hoping to do a little research on Faerghus’ old traditions, but I’m uncertain where to look.”

“We have some, but many were destroyed in the purges in the last century. No doubt House Llwyd had many, but… well.” They fell into an awkward silence as the fate of that once great House played in their minds. “Anyhow… the books you seek are three rows down, two shelves to the right, Your Highness.”

Dimitri watched her go, her dismissal of the Llwyd family weighing heavily on him. People often did this when they were brought up. As though they hadn’t been people, as though their lives had been empty and their deaths meaningless. As though they hadn’t been unjustly murdered. He didn’t understand the disdain people held for them. They had been good to their people and had performed an essential service for their nation. And yet… because they held different beliefs, they were maligned. 

He huffed and wandered away down the rows of books to the section she’d indicated. There was no point in dwelling on it. It wasn’t as though there was a way to change the past. He shuddered as he remembered the day they had put the Lord and Lady to the noose. The people had cheered as they fit the noose around her neck, and she had seemed to glare right at him, the wind whipping her fiery hair about. She had been wild and powerful in her final moments.

_ I pray you all eat each other;  _ she had said. Lord Lucien’s neck had broken, but Lady Maeve’s had not. He remembered the way her lovely face had darkened and contorted in pain and rage while the crowd cheered. He felt himself growing sweaty and chilled, sickened by the memory. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he felt cold, ghostly hands claw at him.

_ Not now, please not now… I’m so sorry… _

He hissed at the shock of pain behind his right eye, but the presence of The Others lessened. He knew they hadn’t left him, of course, but they drew back. He grabbed the few books that looked relevant and hurried out of the seclusion of the aisle. He didn’t look at the librarian as he took a seat at one of the library’s many tables, but he could tell she was watching him. He cracked open the first book and felt someone—Glenn?—press closer. He didn’t dare look, he’d made that mistake once and was determined not to repeat it.

He forced his mind away from those that had passed away—though not passed on—and focused instead on the book. He pursed his lips at the language the scholar had used. ‘Barbaric,’ ‘simple,’ and ‘uncivilized’ came up more than once. He was talking about  _ his _ people,  _ his  _ ancestors. He closed the book with a ‘snap’ and moved on to another—also written by a Church scholar—and frowned. While the language was less condescending, it felt somehow…

_ ‘Incomplete,’ _ Lady Maeve hissed.

Yes. That was exactly the word he was searching for. It described the Helfa Blaidd as only a ‘primitive’ coming of age tradition wherein the young man hunts and kills a wolf, but this was an old tradition. It predated the Church of Seiros. Surely there was more to it than that. 

_ Nothing to say on the matter, Lady Maeve? _

She was silent. Stonily so. She was always the least talkative of his passengers, but this felt deliberate. As though she were purposefully keeping the truth from him. He picked up the last book and thumbed through it, but found no more information than he’d gotten before. He slumped in his seat, disappointed, but unsurprised. 

There was nothing to do but what he knew. If no one would help him, then he would have to help himself. He would do his best. He stacked the books neatly, stood and closed his eyes as he turned. He counted to ten, and found himself alone when he opened them again, and that was a comfort far greater than even the softest pillow in Fódlan.

***

“What are you doing, Dedue?” Dimitri asked.

Dedue paused in his work and looked at him over his shoulder. He seemed to consider standing, but thought better of it, and returned to his work instead.

“Sir Dominic is taking me away on a training mission in a few days’ time. I am packing.”

Dimitri hummed and eased himself down onto the floor, leaning back against the bed. Dedue had been a considerable obstacle in his plan. He hadn’t been entirely sure how he would get around him, but that both he and Gustave would be gone was fortuitous. Even if he only had days to act, it was better than failure. 

“I see. How long will the two of you be gone?” he asked. 

“Two days,” Dedue said.

“I remember Gustave’s training well. It’s been a while since I was last subjected to it.” 

Dedue’s lips quirked up into a quiet smile. He’d missed that. Dedue had grown distant and reticent since he’d begun his training as a Knight. 

They fell into a comfortable silence then, and Dimitri grew sleepy. He hadn’t been sleeping well since that day, but especially recently. The nightmares had grown worse, and with them came sensations. There were nights that he didn’t sleep at all, and all he could do was press his face into the pillow and pray for dawn. The night before had been one such night. He’d woken screaming, but couldn’t remember why. Did the guards and servants hear? What did they think?

He jolted as he tipped sideways. He wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer at this point. The room was too warm and comfortable. Too safe. Dedue watched him with an amused glint in his eyes. He knew well of his difficulties with sleep. 

“Perhaps you should rest before supper, Your Highness.”

“Yes, I think you’re right. You’ll wake me when it’s time, won’t you?”

“Of course. Rest, I’ll keep watch.”

Dimitri kicked off his boots and flopped onto Dedue’s bed with a sigh. His eyes clamped shut immediately, and he drifted. The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was a kiss on his brow and the blankets being drawn up over him. 

***

He could feel their eyes on him as he walked the path to the dining hall. Those men in black and white… he remembered them. They had been the ones who had killed his loved ones and slaughtered the innocents of Duscur. Now they watched his every move. 

They seemed to revel in the misery they caused. They terrorized him and Dedue with their very presence, and they knew it. He took a deep breath and ignored the way their eyes followed him. They were more terrifying than the ghosts. They were corporeal. They could hurt him. More than that, they could hurt those he loved. 

He wanted so badly to say something, but no one would listen to him. They all seemed to believe that Duscur had broken him irreparably, had warped his mind to see enemies everywhere. They thought him fae and strange now. Mad. Perhaps he was, but even a madman was right sometimes. He knew what he’d seen that day. He only hoped it wasn’t too late when everyone else learned the truth. 

“Dima?”

Rodrigue’s concerned tone drew him out of his troubled musings. He didn’t remember making it to the dining room, but there he was.

“Forgive me, I was lost in thought again. Think nothing of it, Rodrigue.” 

His godfather didn’t look particularly convinced, but said no more on the matter. He ushered him into the room and pulled out his chair for him. The night’s meal smelled divine, but he couldn’t muster any excitement for it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to taste it. 

They ate in companionable silence. There was nothing they needed to talk about, nothing to say that hadn’t been said already. Dimitri knew he would miss him when he left. His meals would be far more lonely, now that Dedue found dining with him inappropriate. He hoped that one day, he could have his friend back.

***

Silence fell over the room as Dimitri arrived, his hands and nightshirt stained a ghastly crimson. His expression was dazed, his face pale. Dedue rushed to his side and felt immediate relief when he realized the blood wasn’t his.

“... Where’s his head gone?” Dimitri asked, his voice monotonous. 

“Dima… what are you…?” Duke Fraldarius moved cautiously, as though he were afraid of spooking the young Prince. His face was pale with worry.

“Milord!” A maid came running into the room now, shaken. 

“What is it?” the Duke asked. 

“There’s… there’s a man in His Highness’ room! He’s… his head…..” she paled and swooned, but the Duke steadied her.

“Do we know this man?” he asked. The maid shook her head. “I see… Gustave! Have your men search the area. Dedue, you stay with Dima… get him cleaned up, please.”

Dedue nodded and took him by the arm, leading him back up the stairs. There were too many people surrounding his room, so he took him to the King’s suite instead. He didn’t react as he was stripped down, nor when he was scrubbed clean. He barely reacted as he was tucked into bed, nor when Dedue crawled into bed behind him. 

He could hear them clearing away the mess Dimitri had made of what or whoever the intruder had been. He stroked Dimitri’s hair as his Prince shook. He could remember another time they’d needed to be close like this, though Dimitri had been on death’s doorstep. Dedue pressed his palm to the scars between his shoulders, thanking him silently for saving his life that day. A knock brought him back to the present, and he sat up just as Duke Fraldarius let himself into the room. 

“Is he alright?” he asked. 

“As well as he can be, Milord. Do you have any news?”

The Duke sighed wearily and sank down to the floor, resting on his knees a moment before he met his gaze again. He looked so very old in that moment.

“An assassin, it would seem. I’m surprised it took this long, but we must tighten security going forward. Gustave is currently…  _ reprimanding _ the guards.”

Dimitri tensed and fussed with the sheets a moment, as though he were about to fight with something unseen. He whimpered and shoved his head under the pillow before finally settling. Dedue had seen him do this before. He had one of his headaches. 

“If he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning, let’s… not tell him. It would upset him to know what he did to the poor fool.”

Dedue felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know what could make the Shield of Faerghus look like that. 

“What… did he do?”

“Poor bastard… he twisted his head clean off, like he was a chicken. I imagine his Crest had something to do with it,” he said. 

Dedue wrinkled his nose, but said nothing. He couldn’t see any reason to condemn him. He’d only been trying to survive. He couldn’t help what his Crest did, he’d explained to him that the Crest of Blaiddyd was an unwieldy one. 

“Yes… let’s keep it between us. I don’t wish to upset him further.” 

The Duke nodded and flopped onto his side by the door. It was strange to see, but it warmed his heart. Knowing that he would do so out of love and loyalty… it was a good feeling. 

“Would you not prefer the bed?” he asked. 

“No, no. You sleep. I shall be here to watch over you both, dear boy.”

Most people saying such things would do little to comfort him, but Duke Fraldarius felt so sincere and capable. He closed his eyes and curled closer to Dimitri. They would worry about everything in the morning, when the sun was up and made the shadows less long. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. An Unwelcome Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rufus arrives, Dimitri must choke down his feelings and play the part of the perfect, polite prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only warning I have for this chapter is that Dimitri has a panic attack near the end. Take care of yourself and please let me know how I'm doing. Even if I don't respond, I do read and appreciate the comments.

Dimitri scowled as he watched his uncle’s carriage pull to a stop. From his window, he could see Rodrigue bow. His uncle only half returned the gesture, and brushed by Rodrigue, as though he were little more than a servant. Dimitri bit down on the inside of his cheek to calm himself. It would be pointless to get angry so soon into his uncle’s visit. 

“Are we going to greet him?” Dedue asked. His tone suggested he would rather not.

“It would be proper,” he huffed. 

It would be best for him to play his part; that of the dutiful, polite Prince. What other choice did he have? No one but Dedue ever listened to him, and alone, they were helpless. It was best not to be rude for now.

“Let’s go.”

They met his uncle at the bottom of the stairs. He winced as he felt someone’s presence, their hatred burning the back of his neck in its intensity. They made no demands of him, but even so, he understood their desire all too well.

“Good day, Uncle.” His tone was colder than perhaps proper, but if anyone noticed, they made no mention of it.

“Dima! You’re looking well. I take it the fresh sea air agrees with you?” his uncle asked. He seemed to be pointedly ignoring Dedue’s presence altogether. 

“Very much so. What brings you all the way from Fhirdiad?”

His uncle smiled, but there was no warmth in it. His lips curled back over his teeth like a snarling hound. He looked more like a beast baring its fangs than a man. It suited him, for at least it was honest.

“Oh, I’m only checking in on you, dear boy. Rodrigue and I will leave together.”

_ Two weeks too long. _

“I see. I take it the two of you have business to attend to?” he asked.

“Very astute, as I would expect of my brother’s son. Yes, he and I have business.”

“Then I’ll not keep you from it, Uncle.”

He bowed and hurried away towards the stables with Dedue hot on his heels. He needed to get away from everyone. He needed privacy. He couldn’t release all the anger within him if he had a witness.

“I’m going for a ride. I need a moment alone,” he said.

“I cannot allow that, not after what happened.” Dedue’s tone was uncertain, despite the finality of his words.

“I’ll be fine, friend. I’ll not be leaving the grounds, and there are guards quite literally everywhere. Please.”

Dedue sighed and sagged his shoulders, capitulating to him with little fuss.

“Don’t be gone too long.”

“Of course not. An hour at most. Thank you, my friend.”

Dedue bowed and hurried away towards the training hall. Dimitri continued on towards the stables, eager to have the steady gait of a loyal beast beneath him again.

***

Despite the recent attempt on his life, there seemed to be fewer of his uncle’s men about. Once the castle was naught but a white mass on the cliffs, there was no one. Perhaps he’d caught them as the shifts were changing, or perhaps they deemed protecting their master a higher priority than patrolling the perimeter. If so, then… getting away would be easier than he’d expected.

He would need to hide a pack and a bow… he had only two days to act. He leaned down and patted the horse’s neck. He would need to sneak away again, but if his uncle’s men were going to be so lax in their duties, then he would take it as a good sign.

***

“Rodrigue tells me you brought up the Helfa Blaidd,” his uncle said. Dimitri jolted at the sound of his voice, worry settling in his stomach.

“I had, though it was only a passing thought. There’s no need to trouble yourself over it, Uncle.”

“You’re very much like your Father. Always so concerned with other people and their troubles. Take care that you don’t overdo it, Dima.” His uncle’s tone suggested that he found this trait distasteful, as though his selfishness was the best way to live life.

“Of course, Uncle.”

“There’s a good lad. Just let the men deal with everything for now. You’ll get your chance to help sooner rather than later.” 

Dimitri grit his teeth and forced himself to smile as his uncle walked away. He went back the way he came, ignoring the icy stares of the guards as he passed, his head held high and back straight. He couldn’t leave anything to that cretin. He was an embarrassment. A blemish on the Blaiddyd name. 

**His head. Give us his head!**

He winced at the chorus of angry voices, but kept himself from toppling over at the pain that streaked through his head. He was growing used to it. He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, headed for his chambers so he could prepare for supper. Unless there was some sort of miracle, he couldn’t afford to show weakness or fear, not now; and perhaps never. 

***

The atmosphere in the dining room was so tense that Dimitri felt he might scream. He and his uncle pointedly ignored each other, and beside him, Dedue kept fidgeting. Rodrigue was seemingly unperturbed, but there was something very practiced about that ease. It was misery. He didn’t relish every meal for the next two weeks being like this one. 

The maids seemed to sense the mood, for they were quick in putting their meals and wine before them, and even quicker to dart out of the room. Rodrigue picked up his glass and swirled the crimson liquid a moment before taking a drink. Then he coughed. And coughed. And coughed. His face turned an alarming shade of puce and he sputtered. His uncle straightened in his chair. Rodrigue choked. 

“Goodness, you’re not a fish, old man! Breathe,” his uncle said. 

“Vinegar,” Rodrigue rasped. 

“What?”

“Vinegar. Someone… put vinegar in the wine.”

Dedue’s hand came to rest against his back, and only then did he realize how quickly he was breathing. All he could hear was the rush of blood and a low ringing sound. He was cold and numb. Hands helped him up. Dedue. He was being carried. He couldn’t fight it, he couldn’t breathe. He could have lost Rodrigue. Perhaps he did.

It was the cool, soft sheets that gave him something else to focus on. He still couldn’t move, but he could breathe. Air whistled high in his throat as he wheezed. He gulped for air and shook, groping for Dedue’s hand. It was there in an instant, warm and calloused. A tether to the earth. He didn’t know how long it had been, but the shadows looked longer than they had.

“Are you well?” Dedue asked.

“Yes… I’m fine now. Uncle ordered that vinegar be put in Rodrigue’s wine. He’s trying to torture me.”

“Yes.” 

Even if he were the only one, it felt good to know that at least someone didn’t think him mad. Someone saw the world as he did.

“I don’t know what to do. Next time, it might not be vinegar in the wine.”

“I… cannot say anything that will help, Your Highness. There’s nothing we can do alone.”

Yes. They needed allies. They needed someone who would listen and legitimize their claims. They needed proof. How did they get such a thing?

_ Goddess, please… _

Though his prayers always fell on deaf ears, he couldn’t help himself. Though she was absent, hers was the only mercy he had to beg. 

A knock on the door silenced any further discussion. Rodrigue let himself in, looking well if a bit miffed. It had truly only been vinegar. They’d been fortunate. He smiled tightly and eased himself down beside the bed, taking Dimitri’s hand in both of his.

“You’re alright?” he asked. Dimitri chewed his lip and nodded. “Good. You’ll be glad to know that the maid who served my wine told us who was responsible. He’s being questioned.”

“I’m glad you’re alright, Rodrigue. I was so afraid…” his voice wavered as he covered his godfather’s hand with his, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Rodrigue swiped his thumbs across his cheeks, tutting softly. 

“Now, now. No tears, Dima. They are wasted here, save them for a time when they’re needed.”

Dimitri nodded and took a deep breath, choking down the fear of loss. Rodrigue was right. There was no need to cry. He was alright, Rodrigue was alright, and he’d already embarrassed himself once that night. 

“There’s a good lad. Now don’t be afraid. Lambert left you in  _ my _ care, not Rufus’. I’ll not abandon you.”

_ You can’t promise that… _

“Thank you, Rodrigue. Truly,” he said.

His godfather smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and Dimitri leaned into the touch. It had been so long it seemed since anyone had touched him. There was no reverence or formality in it. It was only affection. He had missed it.

“There is room at Castle Fraldarius when you’re ready, Dima. Felix will be thrilled to see you. He asks about you often.”

“Can I come with you when you leave?” he asked. Rodrigue chuckled and stroked his hair, nodding.

“Of course you can. Your uncle and I have already discussed it. He thinks it best if you’re with us.” Rodrigue stood and made his way to the door, turning back once more. “Rest for now. I’ll have something brought up for you.” 

Dedue followed him, and turned to bow, “I will ensure the food is safe. I shall return in a few moments, Your Highness.”

Dimitri sighed and flopped back against the pillows. When he wanted to be alone, no one would allow it, and when he didn’t, they all seemed to flee. It was as if his need for company scared them all away.

_ Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. _

***

“We’ll only be gone a few days. The men I’m leaving with you are well trained and trusted. You have nothing to fear, Your Highness,” Gustave said. 

Dimitri bit down on the inside of his cheek, annoyance lancing through him. Ever since that day in Duscur, Gustave treated him differently. He acted as though he were some swooning catastrophe that would fall into a panic at a moment’s notice. As though he’d become something delicate and precious. 

“Of course, Gustave. I’ll be fine. You needn’t worry yourself over me.”

The old Knight gave him a firm look, his lips pressed into a hard line. It was the sort of withering stare he gave new recruits. 

“I will always worry. Don’t do anything reckless, Dima.”

He fought down the guilt. He’d made up his mind. Nothing would change if he didn’t force the issue. This was the only course of action available to him.

“Of course not. I’ll see you both when you return.”

Gustave and Dedue bowed, leaving Dimitri alone with his new guard detail. They looked at him expectantly, and he wondered just how he would get around them.

_ Damn... _

  
  
  
  



	4. The Wolves and the Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri puts his plan into motion and gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reused a lot of the original draft this chapter, but honestly I don't think it's a problem. I wish I'd been on my meds sooner so that I wouldn't have been so self critical, but it is what it is. 
> 
> As I've said before, I do experience psychosis and depression, so Dimitri's experience is based largely on my own, at least insofar as how it actually feels. 
> 
> As always, don't be shy, tell me how I'm doing!

There was an unseasonable nip in the air, even for Faerghus. He shivered despite the layers of wool and fur he wore, and tugged his coat more tightly around himself as the wind blew harsh and blustery over the grounds. It was quiet–the kind of quiet only thick blankets of snow could bring. He’d hoped it would hold off for a few more days, but Faerghus did as she pleased; he had no choice but to adapt. That was the way of things, and it would continue to for years to come; the world no longer had any order or reason to it; perhaps it never had. 

He’d hidden his pack the night before, and today, despite the weather, would have to be the day he departed for the wilds. Dedue had left the night prior with Gustave, and knew nothing, just as he’d planned; it would be hard for the nobility to blame someone who wasn’t around, after all. He’d gotten the stablemaster to expect that he would take a ride early in the morning; and as he’d hoped, he had his horse ready.

“Riding again this morning, Your Highness? The weather is going to turn foul soon,” the man said. Dimitri smiled as he took the reins and led the handsome dappled gelding out into the cold.

“It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it? You needn’t worry, Sir. I always report back on time.” Guilt stabbed at him. He knew today that would be a lie.

The stablemaster hummed, his smile slipping slightly as he watched Dimitri swing himself up into the saddle. The horse tugged gently at his reins, ready to be on his way so that he could get the treats he knew would come later.

“I’ll always worry, Your Highness. I’ve known you since you were just a tiny thing. You sure you wanna go alone today?”

The concern in the old man’s voice burned Dimitri’s ears with shame. He knew he was about to cause him concern and trouble, but what he intended was necessary. As long as he remained a child, he would be unsafe; Rodrigue could only do so much to protect him, and his uncle knew it. As long as he was unsafe, his future as King was unsecured, and the people of Faerghus would suffer for it. His uncle didn’t inspire much confidence as it was, and that was only exacerbated by what he knew.

“Early morning is the best time to think, good Sir. I wish to savor the silence before the day finds me,” Dimitri said.

The stablemaster didn’t delay him further, but his troubled gaze lingered. Dimitri ignored him, and all others who may seek to distract him in favor of escaping the palace grounds before Rodrigue woke and caught him. His horse picked up speed once they made it through the gate and over the bridge, and he was free of the castle walls in minutes.

It took only a little longer to uncover his pack and bow. It had all remained hidden in the high boughs of a large cedar tree, and his horse didn’t complain about the extra weight; so strong and sturdy was he that the added burden likely didn’t even deserve his notice. He bore his charge with the dignity befitting such a fine beast, and Dimitri felt a surge of affection towards him.

“We’ll return safe, my friend; and when we do, you’ll have yourself a nice holiday. You’ll be tired, but I promise this will be worth the trouble.”

He dearly hoped he was right. He had no guarantee that he would survive this venture, nor did he know if it would be taken seriously, but with the way things were, just about anything would be better than doing nothing. The people were likely beginning to panic as winter took hold and there were concerns about outbreaks of plague or cholera. People were hungry, and if the weather fouled early, even the sea and rivers would offer little solace. How had things gotten so bad? Where were their surpluses of grain and dried meat? Where had their money gone?

He shook his head and pulled his mind away from his bitter thoughts. His uncle had come specifically to discuss what could be done to keep their people fed until spring. Those in the south and further inland were in less danger, but Gautier territory and the Duscur peninsula were already experiencing shortages; and Blaiddyd territory wouldn’t be far behind. The coastal storms would only worsen and blizzards would blow in soon.

He hoped that if he could complete this test and become a man in the old ways, it would lend his voice more weight among the nobility that valued it, and perhaps it would allow him to make arrangements among local parishes and businesses more effectively. Alms wouldn’t fix the problem, but it would sustain people until he could take the throne. He had to hold onto that hope, or else there truly would be nothing left.

***

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been riding, but he found himself feeling equal parts relieved and anxious as he approached the forest. Though he’d skirted around it, he could see the spires of Castle Llwyd peeking out over the trees in the distance. He’d never seen it in person, but he’d heard from both his father and Rodrigue that it was a formidable stronghold, a key strategic location, and; at least in years prior, stunning. He could see how. With the great lake Teutates to its front and the Witchwood all around it, it didn’t want for natural beauty, or fortification. 

If he had more time and no sense of self preservation, then exploring the castle could prove an interesting diversion; and perhaps one day he would make the trip, and pay respects to the final official victims of the Tragedy. But first…

He turned his attention back to the task at hand, his heart beating more rapidly now that he stood on the threshold between the world of mankind, and that of the forest. Already he could smell decaying leaves and dirt, and his horse flicked his ears to catch the sounds around them. Dimitri dismounted and took the gelding by the reins, and together they took their first steps into the wilds. Dimitri drew his belt knife and made a careful mark in the bark of a tree, making sure not to score it more deeply than an elk’s antlers might. 

The trees loomed large over him, their ancient, gnarled branches blotting out the sky with spectacular shades of red and amber. Leaves fell around him with every gust of cold autumn air, and he shivered as the gravity of what he was doing sank in; for a moment, he considered turning around and abandoning the idea, but he had already made his choice. He had to do this; he needed to make himself into a man, or else he may die a boy.

They hadn’t listened when he’d said the people of Duscur were innocent, nor when he’d said it had been Llwyd knights that had fought and died to protect him. Rodrigue had dismissed him out of hand when he’d told him that the man who had killed his father, and later injured him, had used a sword bearing the insignia of Itha on its hilt. His uncle’s knights had been suspiciously delayed that day. It was all so clear. How could anyone argue that his uncle hadn’t been involved? Even if he weren’t the true mastermind, he  _ knew _ .

Dimitri hacked a little too hard at a tree with his knife and held his breath as the ancient oak groaned and shuddered, its boughs creaking ominously for a moment before it finally settled, dropping snow and leaves down onto him. Looking back, it was easy to follow his path from the places he’d scarred, but this one oozed sap. He placed his hand gently against the trunk and murmured a quiet apology. It was best not to anger the forest, or the creatures that made it their home. 

As he returned to his task, it became apparent how quiet it was. It was the sort of silence that deafened. Beneath his feet, the loamy earth swallowed the sound of his footsteps, and the air–thick with the sweet scent of damp dirt and rot–muted his breath. He would forget his horse’s presence if not for the reins in his hand and his warm breath occasionally sweeping over his cheeks. 

He had been told all his life that the forests of Faerghus were vast, ancient things that belonged to no man, but rather lived and breathed for themselves. Here; venturing deep in the heart of the largest, and oldest of those, he could understand how his ancestors had thought it the domain of fae and beast. He understood why those fears still lingered. If he died within the tangle of undergrowth and roots, no one would ever find him. This place would either make or unmake him, and he wasn’t yet sure which it would be.

He turned his head this way and that, trying to take in everything around him. Nothing had been so beautiful to him since that day. Colors had faded, music held no joy, and food tasted of either ash, or nothing. There was nothing of or in him that moved, he had frozen; and this was the first time in over a year that he had felt alive. If he didn’t know better, he would think that whatever sort of magic that dwelled here had reached deep into him and drawn out the poison of his grief. 

He tore his eyes away from the splendor of the forest and directed his attention downwards, scanning the leaf litter and brush for signs of the wolves. He’d arrived too late to catch them returning to their dens for the day, but it would allow him time to set up camp and set snares for smaller prey. With luck, he would have the pelt of a red dire wolf by morning and he could return to face the consequences of the worry and trouble he’d caused. He wasn’t keen to spend more than one night in the forest, but in the interest of being careful, he’d packed well enough for three. After a few moments, he spotted a depression in the dirt–a paw print–though not the right size or shape for his quarry. A bear, he realized.

_ Odd. They should all be bedded down by now. _

He wondered if perhaps it were a sow with a late season cub; but no… there were no other prints. Unless the cub had perished, it would more than likely be with its mother. There was something else at play, he felt. 

He felt compelled to find this bear and learn why it went against nature so audaciously. It felt important, like he would fail some kind of life defining test if he didn’t understand  _ this _ beast in particular. It felt as though failing in his understanding would mean that he would never be understood in turn. 

He followed the prints deeper into the forest, careful to mark his path as he went, his heart pounding with the thrill of such a mundane mystery. Was it injured? Had it simply failed to store up enough fat to last the winter? If so, it wouldn’t survive. Perhaps it would be kinder to put it out of its misery when he found it. Its pelt could be helpful as well; and it would be kinder than allowing his fellow captive to starve. 

The prints lead him to a clearing, the land there wide and flat; he imagined it was grassy and green in spring and summer, but now it was covered in brown leaves and snow. He couldn’t see it, but he heard water running nearby. This would be a good place to set up camp, and though he knew the night would be cold and lonely, it would be wiser to secure food and shelter sooner rather than later, and he was unlikely to find a better place. He stood there a moment longer before retrieving his pack and setting to work. 

***

His camp was simple, but he’d managed to gather enough dry wood to last until morning, and tucked it beneath an oiled elk skin to protect it from rain or snow. The floor of his tent had been lined with pine boughs and covered over with furs. It would be warm and dry, and that would be a boon when he was cold and damp later that night. His snares were set and his latrine dug far away from the water. As he looked at it all, he remembered Gustave’s lessons; the harshness of the old knight’s teaching brought a bitter smile to his face.

Gustave had made him feel seen in ways most people didn’t. When they were training, Dimitri was allowed to just be another student, and for that time, Gustave simply called him ‘boy’ or occasionally, ‘Dima.’ He missed those times; he missed  _ Gustave _ . It hurt to know that he would never have that closeness again.

Everyone had pulled back from him in the wake of the Tragedy. They looked at him without seeing him, as though the Tragedy had claimed him and given them back a changeling instead. Gustave became cold and vacant; his friends seemed to tiptoe around him, as though he were a stranger. Dedue no longer used his name; and worse still, couldn’t be dissuaded from dedicating his life to his service. No amount of pleading helped. Why did no one seem to realize or  _ care _ that he needed friends he could trust instead of servants? 

_ Servants can be bought. _

He turned his thoughts away; no good would come from that. All that waited at the end of that line of thinking was self pity and anger, and neither were helpful. He had more important things at hand, and his feelings were meaningless in the face of the greater disaster looming over the horizon. 

He had a few hours of light left, and it would be best to find a good place to hunt before then. He picked up the bear’s tracks again at the edge of his camp and began to follow them once more. Bears often stole kills from wolves, so if they were active in the area, it made sense that the bears would be as well. If it were a single bear, it could make a large meal for a pack, as well. This one hardly seemed to interact with its environment. There were no droppings, no signs of foraging, nothing. He frowned as he noticed a bit of hair fluttering on a low hanging branch. Not only would this bear have to be very large, its hair was strangely human. Long, wavy and black, like a woman’s. 

He followed the prints until they vanished near a cluster of trees. There was no sign that it had climbed up, and no sign of a den or carcass. It was as though the forest had swallowed it. He stood there feeling foolish, and the purpose that had driven him evaporated into the dense, sweet air. He felt an overwhelming sense of sadness then. This misery had gripped him many times since  _ It _ had happened, but never when he was so utterly alone. 

His lip quivered first, and his breathing turned uneven as the dampness of tears spilled over his cheeks. He allowed himself to sink down to the ground, rocking slightly on his haunches as the first whimper broke over the dam. It felt good to cry. He’d not gotten the chance to do so, let alone in the safety of solitude; away from judgement or pity. Soon his quiet crying turned to ragged, wet sobs; and then anguished screaming.

The screams echoed in the trees, making him sound like some manner of wounded beast rather than a human boy. It all felt so  _ good _ . It was a profound relief to let it out. He couldn’t vocalize his pain in front of others–he had to look strong. One moment of weakness or inattention could spell doom; if his uncle smelled blood, he would pounce. The forest would guard this secret for him.

A throaty croak above him drew his attention as he began to settle. He looked up to see a large raven peering down at him from a branch about halfway up a large fir tree. It croaked again and turned its handsome black head to see him better. 

“I’m sorry for all the racket,” he sniffled, “I merely needed a moment. I’ve been told it’s bad to hold it all in.” 

The raven; of course, said nothing. It simply ruffled its feathers and settled on its perch. Dimitri wiped his face and struggled to his feet, feeling embarrassed, despite the nature of his audience. A raven could hardly hold him in contempt for giving voice to his grief. He watched as the bird took to the air, longing to follow; but he knew such a thing was useless. He had no choice but to keep his feet planted firmly on the earth and move forward.

**_You must avenge us._ **

**Don’t forget.**

**_Save us._ **

**** **** **** **_Save us!_ **

Dimitri wheezed and shook in the wake of the ghostly pleas. His head ached and his stomach churned as the smell of blood and ash lodged in his nose. His breath came in harsh pants as the shaking started. Every sound in the brush was an enemy, and he turned towards every snapping twig, every fiber in his being poised to attack. A sharp pain in his palm brought his panicked thoughts to a halt and he looked down to find himself clutching the hilt of his knife so tightly that the wooden scales had broken, and lodged a large splinter under his skin.

He swore quietly and took the shard of wood between his trembling fingers and pulled it free. He felt exhausted and cold. His head pounded, as though the ghosts of those that he carried with him had raked their nails over his skull. All he wanted to do was lay down and rest. He tucked his damaged knife away and followed his path back to his camp. He would worry about the wolves later, when he no longer felt the presence of the others so strongly. 

***

It was late afternoon when he woke, though he couldn’t say exactly how late it was. His nap had been surprisingly pleasant, though he’d found that was often the case. If he napped during the day, he was less likely to be troubled by bad dreams. Perhaps it was the sun’s presence, or perhaps the ghosts simply remembered their love for him and took pity, but regardless; he was grateful. There was still a mild twinge behind his left eye, but he had it on good authority that it would fade once he ate. 

He struck his flint and steel, sparking the tinder in anticipation of nightfall; and soon, there was an inviting fire blazing in the pit he’d made earlier that day. When he was satisfied that it would neither die, nor rage out of control, he turned to his pack and pulled the tools he would need to prepare and cook his meal from within. Next, he withdrew a spade and made his way down to the stream.

It babbled pleasantly, but it was the cattails at its edge he was most interested in. It was too late in the year to eat most of it; the stalks would be too tough and woody, but the roots would still be edible. He dug down into the soggy ground with his spade and wiggled the whole plant free, fighting against river weeds and sawgrass as he did so. Cold water rushed in to fill the hole his prize had left and nipped at his fingers as he washed away the dirt. If it were summer, he’d be able to find more tender plants, but he would make do.

_ It’s not as though I could taste it anyway. _

Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention and he watched as a silvery trout drifted near the water’s edge, nibbling at something. He hadn’t brought a pole along, but it was near enough that he hoped he could grab it. He’d not done it in a while, but it was something Gustave had taught him. ‘Be as the osprey,’ Gustave had said. 

He shifted slowly so that he hovered over it, his eyes trained on it as it moved in the current. As soon as he had a bead on it, he struck; his fingers closing around its slippery body. It tried to wriggle free, but he managed to hook his fingers inside its gills and toss it up the bank, where it flopped and gulped helplessly. He wished Gustave had been there simply so that he could see the amused approval on the old man’s face. He turned back towards the stream, but knew to catch another fish he’d need to wade out into water, and he wasn’t keen on doing so. 

Rather than soak himself and invite hypothermia or pneumonia, he opted instead to dig up two more cattail roots, and gathered all that he’d found. Perhaps he would set a trap while he waited for the tubers to roast, if he had time before he had to prepare for his hunt. He placed the first bits of his meal beside the fire, lopping off the head of the trout with his knife in a single quick motion, before rising to check his snares.

***

Dimitri strung his bow and checked the sharpness of his arrows before slinging his quiver over his shoulder and lighting his lantern. He wrapped the innards of his fish and squirrel in a scrap of linen, kicked a bit of dirt into the fire, and set off. He’d noticed wolf droppings and prints on his way to check the furthest snare, which had improved his mood significantly. 

It was a short trip from his camp, and seemed to be a relatively well traveled area by wolves and other creatures, and he found a tuft of red fur in the scrub that hadn’t been there thirty minutes before. They’d been through recently, and were likely still close by. He set the bait and climbed up a tree; cutting away only enough branches to allow himself a clean shot. He snuffed his lantern, and settled in to wait. He could hear them howling in the distance, and somewhere closer behind him; but after a while, as darkness truly fell, and the night’s cold started to sink into his fingers and toes, he began to worry that they wouldn’t come closer.

His mind turned to the bear. Was it the reason they seemed reluctant to linger in the area? A large predator like that could explain it, if it were aggressive and big enough. A large boar could potentially manage to secure territory against a pack. Regardless, it likely wasn’t his own presence that put them off, they were unfortunately unafraid of humans, and soon they’d spill out of the forest and into settlements to pick off sheep and other livestock as their natural prey disappeared for the winter. 

They had been especially aggressive the past year. Those that believed such things thought that they were seeking retribution for the murder of their masters, others thought House Llwyd had kept the worst of them at bay with their witchcraft; and others believed that the family themselves became the wolves after death and were furious at their murder. As he listened to the howling and snarling in the distance, he could almost believe it.

It was all superstition of course. The wolves were creatures of the physical realm, not the product of some forbidden magic. The only truth in it all was that House Llwyd were murdered, the children vanished, and there seemed to be more wolves now than there had been. 

He shivered and huffed as the moon rose higher into the sky. Though the wolves were near, and they were hunting, they seemed either too afraid or disinterested in coming to investigate the smell of blood. It was getting late, and far too cold to safely remain outside. Even with the layers of wool, oiled elk skin, and fur he wore, the cold would claim him if he didn’t return to shelter soon. He listened for a few moments longer, just be certain that they weren’t coming closer, and climbed down when it became clear they were moving away.

If he failed again in the morning, when they were returning to their dens, then he would have no choice but to determine the reason they stayed away from the area and deal with it. If it was the bear, its pelt would simply have to be added to his spoils.

His fire still burned low in the pit, but gave off enough warmth to take the chill from his hands and feet. He removed the string from his bow and settled in front of the fire in order to rake out one of the stones he’d been heating in the coals with his hatchet. He kicked off his boots and changed his socks, which gave the stone enough time to be just cool enough to handle. He tucked it into his coat and curled in on himself, enjoying the feeling of the heat as it sank into his chilled bones.

He closed his eyes and listened to the forlorn howling, the songs of night birds, and the sleepy snorts of his horse from his shelter in a nearby copse. He yawned and smiled as he began to drift towards sleep. If he thought he could, he would happily remain among the beasts of the wilds and live out his life in solitude, away from human pains.

***

_ His fingers ached from the cold and his nails tore as he dug at the earth. The rough surface of the rock and lichen under his hands kept him grounded as he piled the stones into a tidy mound. Tears gathered on his lower lashes, but never fell. All the aches and pains bled together into a dull roar that never left.  _

_ They had been so close to home,  _ **_so_ ** _ close… if they’d put only one more day behind them, they could have made it. Now there was nothing left but him and the moon overhead. He rested his head against the cold rock, shivering in the darkness. He didn’t have long until he would need to seek shelter for the night. He clenched his filthy, hurting hands and tried to focus on the burning need for recompense rather than how tired he was. He watched as his breath rose into the air on a column of steam. There was so little dignity in this. They should be home, among the others. This wasn’t a funeral fit for anyone, this was shame. _

_ His voice rose over the trees in a trembling tone, cold and clear; the words at once familiar and not. The danger could still be nearby, but did it truly matter anymore? If he could kill them, then they’d be one less obstacle. He had so much more killing to do. _

***

He woke suddenly, his voice still droning. At first, he thought it to only be a strange dream brought on by the forest and his isolation, but as he listened, he heard the song rising over the trees in a crisp, clear voice; a woman’s, he realized. 

Despite the danger, he shoved on his boots and restrung his bow. If there was indeed a woman lost within the forest, then it was only proper that he offer his help. He kept his ears pricked as he lit his lantern and set off in the direction of the voice. 

He didn’t understand the words; it was sung in an old dialect that only scholars and mages–those that kept with old traditions–knew well. Even so, he recognized the tune; it was a common dirge and the grief in her voice was breathtaking. He followed her song as a sailor to a siren, allowing it to move him in the way he couldn’t when his own parents had been entombed. He mouthed the words he remembered along with her, trying to match her pace. 

_ ‘And am I born to die?’ _

__ _ ‘To lay this body down,’ _

_ ‘And must my trembling spirit fly,’ _

__ __ __ __ _ ‘Into a world unknown?’ _

He wove through the trees, his single-minded determination driving him in spite of the bitter cold. He continued to mark his path as he went; knowing how easily he could become lost in the tangle of trees in the dark, but each note from the woman’s mouth seemed to jerk him along, as if she had him hooked. 

_ ‘A land of deepest shade,’ _

__ _ ‘Unpierced by human thought,’ _

__ __ _ ‘The dreary regions of the dead,’ _

__ __ __ __ _ ‘Where all things are forgot.’ _

He broke through a circle of trees and found himself in a small copse of aspen; the moon peeked through the branches and the cold sank deep into him as mist began to rise, but there in the center was what he’d hoped to find. A woman–no, a girl no older than he–sitting beside a stone grave, her striking black hair and pale skin made her appear as a ghost in the night. Her voice rose into the final verse and he knelt down to wait.

_ ‘Soon as from this earth I go,’ _

__ _ ‘What will become of me?’ _

__ __ _ ‘Eternal happiness or woe,’ _

__ __ __ __ _ ‘Must then my portion be.’ _

As the last notes drifted away into the bleak autumn night, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. She moved faster than he could speak and flung herself over the grave to put something solid between them. The air changed as she seemed to bear down on him with the force of a coastal storm. He felt the pressure and humidity in his mouth and chest, and imagined that it would taste sweet, like summer rain.

“Please, good Lady, I’m not here to hurt you.” The air crackled around them, the pressure of her intent intensifying. She had him fixed as well as any longbowman, and knowing that she intended to kill, Dimitri did the only thing he could think of: he dropped his bow. “Please, you must see that I am no threat to you.”

She still didn’t speak, but the pressure abated somewhat as she seemed to consider him. Dimitri waited, keeping his hands folded in front of him so that she could see them clearly. After several tense moments, the oppressive force of her magic dissipated; like a tempest blowing over.

“Well, well. I can’t say I ever expected to run into  _ you _ of all people, Your Highness.”

Her voice was much the same as it was when she sang–cold, clear, and sharp. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She stood at last, and he was surprised to see such a gaunt face looking back at him. Even at this distance, he could see that her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and he could see the major arteries that ran from her chin down into her neck, where they disappeared beneath her coat’s collar. He wasn’t sure if it were a trick of the moon, but they seemed bluer and brighter than they ought to be.

“I’m… sorry, have we met?” He wracked his brain, trying to put a name to her face, but none came. Her eerie, pale eyes cut through him like the hard edge of a knife, and he shuddered at the way they seemed to  _ know _ him.

“Oh, am I too lowly to be remembered? I’ll give you a little hint: your family murdered mine.”

A Llwyd, then. Not the youngest daughter, he remembered her name and face well enough. Roisin had been younger. Not Daphne von Vestra, either; she’d been soft featured and pretty. That only left one, but...

“Veronica Llwyd? Is that you?”

“Ah, so you’ve got a brain in that pretty head after all? Astounding,” she said. She would have sounded bored if not for the intense bitterness he heard in her voice. 

“Forgive me, you’ve… changed.”  _ That _ was an understatement. He’d not seen her face to face in nearly five years. He remembered a shy, doe eyed girl who preferred to hide behind her brother. He’d not seen her since his tenth birthday, after she’d accidentally hurt Miklan. He’d not seen the event itself, only the angry, blistered handprint on his cheek. “Are you injured?”

“It is nothing  _ you  _ need to concern yourself with. I am more than well enough to take the price of my family’s lives from you.”

Though her threat was genuine, and her anger well earned, he couldn’t help but feel that the real danger had passed. He wasn’t keen on calling her bluff, but he could see that she was exhausted. Her threat display had likely taken what was left of her strength. 

“You have cause to do so, I suppose. My uncle did neglect to give them proper warning, and they never got the chance to dispute the charges against them; but… I do ask that you give me a chance to speak.”

“You’ve done little else since you arrived and I’ve hardly stopped you.”

He nearly laughed at that. He’d been told he was too quiet his whole life and now she tells him he never shuts up? 

“Perhaps you’d rather speak elsewhere? I’ve got a camp a short walk this way. I’d prefer to get you in front of a fire.”

“Why should I trust you? More importantly, why would you do such a thing? What is it that you want that you cannot ask me for here?” She asked. Her tone had lost much of its venom, moving more towards incredulity than hate. Her expression was placid now, but he wasn’t sure if he found it more or less unsettling than her bared teeth had been. 

“Well, I suppose we have good reason to be wary of one another, but I feel that granting you shelter on such a cold night is the only right thing to do,” he said.

“You’re a soft hearted fool. It’s going to get you killed.”

_ But not tonight… _

“Come, My Lady; let us get out of the cold. We’ve much to talk about.”

***

They were silent at first, and Dimitri let himself study her as she warmed her hands by the fire. Now that he saw her in the warm orange glow of the flames, she looked far more human. She was thin, as though she’d not had a decent meal in a long time; though it was hard to see just how bad things were thanks to her heavy coat. Though she seemed at ease, he could tell that she was listening to their surroundings intently. 

“You want to say something,” she said.

“I was wondering why you’re here and where you’ve been.”

“I could ask you the same, Your Highness. What could  _ possibly _ bring the Prince all the way to  Coedwig Bywyd . Alone, no less.”

Dimitri chewed his lip a moment as she turned her strange pale eyes on him again. He remembered them being green, but couldn’t place the color of them now. Perhaps it was a trick of the darkness, and he’d see it more clearly in the daylight?

“I… have come to undertake the Helfa Blaidd,” He said. She laughed, the sound mocking and harsh. 

“No you aren’t. You’re here to kill a poor, stupid animal in hopes that the men will think you’re a big boy, you wouldn’t even know  _ how _ to undertake the Helfa Blaidd.”

His temper flared. She barely knew him, and didn’t know his reasons, and yet she mocked him? How could someone be so cold? 

“What am I to do? Sit idly by as my people suffer? I cannot abide that.” His voice rose, and his hands trembled as his anger ate away at his self control. He bit back the cruelest things he wished to say and simply tried to keep himself calm. 

“This is Faerghus, you imbecile. That’s all your people ever do; though I suppose you’re only now beginning to see the truth, now that Daddy Dearest isn’t here to hide it from you.” She tilted her head, placid expression morphing into what he could only call ‘wicked amusement,’ “How  _ horrible _ it must be for you,  _ Your Highness _ .”

“ _ Goddess _ haven’t you any compassion?” He leaned back on reflex as she leaned closer, her smile falling away. She smelled of wet leaves and little else.

“Did the people of Faerghus have any compassion for  _ my _ family? Or did they cheer as my mother strangled to death?” She was no longer feigning amusement. Her baleful gaze pinned him to the spot, and for a moment he could only stare at her. She pulled away after a fashion and turned her eyes back to the fire, her face returning to the blank mask she’d worn earlier. “There you have it, then. If I had time or resources, I’d poison every well in this rotten country.”

There was no point in getting angry with someone so embittered, he realized. She wasn’t… entirely wrong–about him, at least–and his defensiveness only seemed to delight her. She was as cruel as she was wretched. The silence stretched out between them, heavy and tense; though she didn’t seem to mind it.

“I… am hiding from someone,” she said. Her tone had become hesitant, as though she didn’t wish to speak, but had been compelled. He’d wished she’d just stay quiet, but even if she were horrid, he still wanted to give her a chance. He had no idea what she’d been through, and it would be hypocritical of him to hold her anger against her.

“From?”

“I don’t know, really. I don’t know what they want with me, but I  _ do _ know they have some connection to what happened that night; and likely to what happened in Duscur, as well.”

That caught his attention. If she were indeed in such dire straits, then perhaps an agreement could be reached, after all. She had already proven that she could be reasonable, and a Llwyd could prove a powerful ally. 

“I’m… sorry. I understand the pain of losing family,” he said.

“Keep your sympathy, it’s useless to me." She drew up her knees and gazed out into the darkness rather than look at him. Her wrist peeked out from under her sleeve, and his stomach turned at how tiny it was. He could see the fine bones so clearly under her skin that he almost wondered if he should worry she would die overnight. 

“Perhaps, but you have it all the same. I… believe you and I may have a common enemy. My uncle.  _ He  _ is responsible for both tragedies. I doubt he did it all alone, but he is certainly involved; and now he is attempting to usurp the throne.” 

Veronica’s brow crumpled and she finally met his eyes again. Her gaze was thoughtful, and he was surprised he  _ didn’t _ see mockery there. At length she cocked her head slightly, her chapped lips pulling down into a frown. 

“And what makes you so sure?”

“The man who killed my Father and later attacked me carried a blade marked with the crest of Itha. My uncle’s knights were... delayed, and didn’t arrive until long after the slaughter had begun. They ignored me when I pleaded that the people of Duscur were innocent, and instead killed them, down to the children. Rodrigue has tried to tell me that I have misremembered because of the stress, but I  _ know _ what I saw.”

She was quiet for a moment, her expression troubled. He couldn’t say what was going through her mind, but the look she was giving him was stressful. Why couldn’t she just speak up?

“Well. If things happened the way you remember, then it certainly seems your uncle is up to his elbows in it all. How interesting.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gazed up at the sky, her frown deepening as she seemed to lose herself in her thoughts. Where had she been? What happened? Where were the others?

“What do you intend to do now, Veronica?”

“Find out who’s following me, ferret out the truth, and put an end to them. Hopefully in the process, I can prove my family’s innocence, though it matters little now.” She shrugged and continued to peer up at the stars with a bitterly wistful look on her face.

“I’m afraid I must ask; who was it that you were burying? I realize it may be painful, but I need to know, should it cause trouble.”

She was silent for a long while. In her silence, Dimitri could hear her teeth chattering; she’d not been trembling when he’d first found her, and he found himself growing concerned. If she’d stopped shivering before he’d gotten to her, then she could be in a bad way.

“It…” she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “it was my brother, Sebastian. We had thought to lose our pursuers in the forest, but they… knew it as we did. He sacrificed himself, like a fool. They had no interest in him, if he’d just done the sensible thing and abandoned me, he’d probably be alive right now.” 

“He loved you. He wanted you to survive,” Dimitri murmured. She snorted, but didn’t argue. He understood that sentiment well.  _ He _ didn’t particularly like the idea of anyone else ever dying for  _ him _ , either.

“I’ve been attempting to draw them out, but I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps they believe I am gone and have moved on; or if perhaps they met a nasty fate at the jaws of one of the forest’s many beasts.”

Her words were beginning to sound slurred. She was exhausted and cold, and it had to be getting close to midnight, if the moon’s position wasn’t lying to him. Wordlessly, he shoveled a bit of dirt over the coals to cool the blaze and raked out another stone. She watched with little interest, but tucked her hands into her coat. Her mention of the forest and its beasts made him remember one in particular.

“This may seem an odd question, but have you… noticed a bear about?” He asked. Veronica quirked an eyebrow, before shrugging noncommittally. 

“I am likely the bear you speak of. I have practiced polymorphy since I was a little girl; it’s how I’ve survived the past few nights.” 

“The Church of Seiros frowns on such magic, doesn’t it?” He asked. He knew well that House Llwyd were apostates and paid only enough heed to the Church’s doctrines to keep themselves out of trouble; but after Duscur he himself couldn’t say he would be much more attentive. What good was a goddess that allowed such cruelty?

“The Church of Seiros would frown on indoor plumbing if it weren’t just as convenient for them as it was for everyone else.”

Dimitri chuckled and drew up his knees, watching her from the corner of his eye as she stifled a yawn. It was easy to decide what he would do now that she was there. The only proper course of action was to offer her asylum, and hope she would lend him her aid in return.

“What other forms can you take? Is it only that of a bear, or is there anything a little less… conspicuous?” He asked. She cast a sidelong glance at him, her expression understanding. She knew what he would ask next. 

“There are a few others. A cat and crow are the other two I’ve some modicum of mastery over. They’re… good for slipping into places unnoticed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s what I’d hoped you’d say. I have a proposal for you, if you’re of a mind to hear it.” 

“Go on.”

“Help me find evidence against my uncle, and I will grant you protection. Along the way, we will hopefully be able to prove the innocence of both the people of Duscur, and your family.”

He knew there was only so much he could do, but his word would count for  _ something _ , especially after this. With the help of the other High Lords, he could protect her from much of his uncle’s cruelty. He already had one ward, one more would do him no harm.

“I… see little other option, at this point. Sebastian told me much, I know my uncle still lives; but he is hardly equipped to deal with the problems I would bring, and… at least with you, I would have access to resources and a roof over my head; and you get a valuable hostage indentured to you, I suppose. Hanging my life over his head would likely keep Uncle Emrys out of any future conflict.”

“I have no intention of doing such a thing, but… I can’t promise my uncle won’t. I’ll do what I can, you have my word. I always keep my word,” he said.

_ Except when I don’t. _

She snorted, but there was little derision in it now. She was either too tired to maintain her vitriol, or she had been posturing before, but either way, he’d happily take this over her cruelty.

“We’ll see about that. Shall we make it official, then?” 

Dimitri nodded and drew his knife, making a small cut in the palm of his hand and tried his best to ignore the sick feeling as he watched the blood flow. Veronica did the same, and then they clasped their hands together. Hers was horrifically cold, barely warmer than the air around them.

“I have one more question before we turn in for the night,” he said, wiping his hand clean. She arched her eyebrows in inquiry. “When you said I don’t know how to undertake the Helfa Blaidd… well, you’re right. I had thought there was more to it, but I couldn’t find any information on it that wasn’t… ‘kill a wolf.’ Could you perhaps tell me?”

“Fine, if it means that you won’t cause any more harm to the Forest, I’ll explain. You must walk the Pilgrim’s Path. You’re seeking the altar of Halfor, Father of the Hunt. There you will make an offering; wolves, bears, and boars are his favored beasts, and they must be fresh. Once you have done this, you will pray to him for his blessing, and if he finds you suitable, he will send you a beast to hunt. You will have until sundown to complete your hunt, if you fail you’ll have to wait until next year to try again.”

“Where is this… Pilgrim’s Path?” he asked. 

“I will show you in the morning. It’s deeper in the forest, you’ll need my help to get there.” She yawned then, blinking blearily at him. She was almost cute in that moment, like a girl her age should be. “I’ll explain further when it’s time.”

“We should turn in for now. You’re exhausted, and I wish to finish my task tomorrow, and face the consequences for my actions. You may use this, it should be cool enough now,” he pushed the stone towards her. “You no doubt need it much more than I. Shall we?” 

He watched as she kicked off her boots and tucked the stone into her coat against her chest, a soft, relieved sigh breezing past her cracked lips as she settled down. He tied the tent flap shut, removed his boots, and heaped furs upon them both. It was strange not to be alone in the tent anymore. 

“You’re not worried that I will kill you as you sleep?" She slurred. Her words came out muddled and clumsy. She was likely already half asleep.

“I think at worst you’ll snore.”

“I do  _ not _ snore.”

They lapsed into silence, and almost immediately he heard her breathing turn deep and even. She truly was worn out; he had no doubt that she’d sleep well into the morning. He yawned and turned to look at her back, though only the tangled mass of her inky hair poked out over the fur. He closed his eyes and prayed he’d not wake her with one of his nightmares; not now, while their alliance was still so fragile, at least. 


	5. Hunter, Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri undertakes the Helfa Blaidd, and gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the end of the prewritten stuff, and I don't have many more chapters I intend to reuse. I'm excited to get past the old stuff and get on with the stuff y'all haven't seen yet. Please let me know how I'm doing and I hope you're having a good day.

It was the early morning stirrings of birds that woke him, rather than nightmares; a welcome change, considering present company. Veronica still slept, though not deeply, it seemed. He moved carefully in order to avoid waking her; she was likely still very tired, and a single night’s rest wouldn’t make up for days or perhaps even weeks of poor sleep.

He gasped as the first blast of frigid air met him. It was colder than it had been the day before, and the snow had piled up around the tent, though its shape had kept it from resting atop it. He got the fire going in short order, and filled the feed bag full of rolled oats for the horse. The beast raised its head and snorted as he approached; he was cold and fussy, but sheltered by the large pines. The night had been bitterly cold–too cold for a human–but survivable for him.

He stroked the horse’s neck, murmuring gently into his mane. He smelled like the wilds and the distinct musk of ‘horse,’ a smell he’d come to find pleasant and comforting. It reminded him of his father, but not too much; not enough to be painful. Not like the smell of ink and parchment, or tobacco smoke. 

_ The smell of steel and blood _ .

He pulled away reluctantly, and made his way down the trail to check his snares, hoping there would be a decent breakfast waiting in one of them. Veronica needed to regain her strength in order to make the trip back, and with as thin as she was, he wasn’t sure how difficult it would be for her. It was imperative that he keep his own strength up, to make up for any shortcomings on her part.

The wolves were howling. It was hard to say for what–be it a rallying cry at the end of a hunt, or a signal that a kill had been made–but, they sounded close. If he hurried; and got lucky, he could catch one for his offering. He had only hope to go on, but it was better than nothing. 

***

By the time he returned to the camp; rabbit in hand, Veronica was up; warming her bare, raw hands by the fire. She’d combed her hair through with her fingers, it seemed; it was far neater than it had been the night before. He smiled at her when she glanced his way, but she didn’t return it, opting instead to stoke the fire. Nestled in the coals was his cooking pot, and upon closer inspection, he realized she’d done some foraging of her own while he was gone. There was a decent amount of rosehips and boiling water in the pot; it would provide them with a boost, and a pleasantly warm drink to boot.

He settled himself a short distance away and took out his knife, sliding the blade down the creature’s spine, peeling back the fur to reveal the flesh underneath. He watched Veronica from under his lashes, and was surprised to see her grimace as he cut the body cavity open. He didn’t care for it either, especially not when he was the one watching; there was something easier about doing it. It took less thought than watching did. 

He protioned it and skewered the meat on the same sticks he’d used the night before, and Veronica took the skewers from him and stuck them into the dirt so that the meat hung over the fire to cook. He wrapped the innards and head of the rabbit in a scrap of cloth and made his way down to the stream to wash away the blood. The water was cold enough to make his hands ache, but from that position, he could see the horizon through a break in the trees–it was just beginning to lighten. They had about half an hour until daylight. 

She didn’t shift when he settled in beside her. She turned their skewers and ignored him as he turned to look at her. She was every bit as pale in the weak light of the small hours, but he recognized her now. She no longer looked so strange to him, and he assumed that would improve further once she’d gained back some weight. He glanced at her hands and frowned; they were bony and scarred, and many of her fingers were a little crooked, as though they’d been broken and healed poorly. 

“Why do you stare at me so? Am I truly so fascinating to you?” Her tone was clipped, but seemed almost anxious rather than annoyed. 

“Forgive me, I’m simply worried. You’re...so  _ thin _ .”

“I’m none of your concern, Your Highness. Worry about yourself, and I will do the same.”

He suppressed a sigh and jiggled the pot in hopes that it would help the rosehips steep more quickly. Had she always been so contrary? He couldn’t really remember her from before. He and his own friends hadn’t interacted with her much; and after she’d hurt Miklan, she was hardly ever seen in public. Sitting beside her now, after all that had happened, it was almost hard to believe that such a frail girl had ever hurt anyone. 

“Here. This should be done now,” Dimitri said, pulling the pot from the coals, and pouring its contents into his mug, “you should have it, you’re in need of strength; we’ve a long day ahead.” 

She took the mug from him gingerly, her thin fingers brushing his as they wrapped around the handle–they were still frigid. She blew on the contents a moment before taking a sip, and if she was bothered by its taste, she made no indication. It was hardly as fine as the tea they could have back at the castle, but it would help her, and that’s what mattered. Hungry as he was, he encouraged her to eat the largest portion of rabbit.

Normally, such a large meal would be unwise on such an empty stomach, but it was so cold that it was a necessary risk. Rather than waste time going back down to the stream, Dimitri boiled himself some snow to wash down the charred chunks of meat. Once he was finished, he rose to his feet and stretched, groaning as his muscles tensed, and then relaxed, leaving him feeling more limber than he had. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, rising on unsteady legs. Dimitri reached out to help her, but she swatted away his hand with a scowl. 

“Y-yes… are you sure you'd rather walk, I’m sure I could saddle the horse for y—”

“Just keep up, Your Highness. It would be easy for you to get lost here.”

She set off with a quick, long legged stride, not terribly unlike his own. She carried herself with a slight limp, but seemed otherwise robust enough, despite how thin and frail she was. Dimitri kept pace easily, and couldn’t help but wonder just how long she would be able to keep up the act.

Dimitri stuck close to her, itching to mark their path as he'd been taught, but instead allowed her to wind them through the wood, her stride purposeful and certain. It was as though she knew the way without needing to look for trail markers or a map. His curiosity won out and he wet his lips to speak.

“Aren’t you worried we’re going to get lost?” he asked. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, shaking her head.

“No.”

“But how can you tell? It all looks the same.” 

He could see no cairns marking the path, no indication there was a path at all even. She seemed to be navigating their way through some sort of instinct, or… magic.

“I can sense it. I don’t need to follow my eyes.”

“Sense what?”

“All of Fodlan’s ley lines converge in this Forest, that’s why it is the way it is. Why summer never comes, and it seems a world apart from the rest of the nation. I’m tracking the path by following a specific current of magic. Now shut up, and let me concentrate.”

Her words lacked the bite he’d come to expect from her. She had seemed genuinely engaged in the conversation for the brief moment they spoke. Perhaps it was a matter of getting her started on a topic she found interesting or important? 

Their pace slowed as they crested a hill, and she was wheezing slightly, but she didn’t stop moving. If nothing else, he could appreciate her tenacity, though it didn’t quell his worries that she was ill. They came to a stop so suddenly that he nearly walked into her, but quickly found what had caught her attention. A large stone arch stood in their path. It was weathered and covered in moss and lichen, but seemed sturdy enough. 

“Here it is. This is the beginning of the Pilgrim’s Path. From here, it’s marked with cairns, so even someone like you can follow it. The altar you seek is the fifth one. When you find it, you’ll make your offering and ask for his favor.”

“How do I keep myself from getting lost while I hunt?” he asked. 

“It’s impossible to get lost. All paths will lead you back to the Pilgrim’s Path. If you’re truly afraid of it, you can score the bark as long as you’re careful. Be gentle, or else the Matron may become angry with you.”

“The Matron?”

“That is what we call an ancient spriggan that dwells within the Forest. She is as old as Coedwig Bwydd itself. Do no harm, and you will be safe.”

Veronica eased herself down onto a flat stone, arranging her coat around herself as she crossed her legs. Dimitri considered what she told him and looked at the weathered arch again, his stomach churning with nervousness. 

“Does she not watch you, as well?” he asked.

“No, I am no interloper here. I am the steward of this Forest, it knows me.”

“You speak as though the forest is alive as we are,” he said.

“You’re wasting daylight.”

She was right. He only had until sundown to complete his hunt. There was no time to be thinking about her strange manner of speaking. He took a deep breath and made his way towards the arch, placing a hand on the rough, cold surface. He had one chance, he had to get it right.

“I’m off then.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” she said. Her tone suggested she didn’t care one way or the other, and he paused for a moment to watch her pull off her gloves and assess the damage to her fingers. He cringed as she peeled away torn nail and skin, and turned away. The rabbit from breakfast was no longer sitting well with him. He stepped through the arch and began his search for signs of animals. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he turned up without an offering, but he wasn’t eager to try it.

He could hear howling in the distance, but he couldn’t tell exactly how far away they were. He could only hope that the bait he’d brought would draw them to him, but he would try it. He laid out the innards and head of the rabbit and looked around quickly to get his bearings.

He climbed up a nearby tree, pruned away a few small limbs to give himself a clear shot, and waited; keeping an arrow nocked in anticipation. After a few minutes of silence, he heard movement in the brush, his heart pounding; but hope fled as he saw that it was only an opossum. 

_ Perhaps I should have asked Veronica to pray to one of her gods for me. _

He paused in his attempts to scare away the opossum, the pinecone in his hand dropping as the creature scampered away as yet more noise from the brush startled it. Elation nearly overwhelmed him as a large red wolf stepped into view, its footfalls disturbingly silent for a creature so large. Dimitri could tell by the size and quality of its fur that it was young; likely only two or three years old. As it bent to sniff at the bait, it became quite apparent to him that it was a male. One would quickly become many, so he drew his bow back, held his breath, and fired. 

His prey yelped as the arrow lodged itself deep into the back of its neck. The beast ran off into the brush, but was bleeding so profusely that it was easy to follow. He found it lying on its side, whimpering only about forty yards away from where it had first been struck. Dimitri drew his knife, reached around the creature’s head and made a cut, wrinkling his nose as the blood poured freely over his fingers.

“I’m sorry. Your death will serve a noble purpose; rest now.”

He heaved the beast up onto his shoulders and followed the trail back to the Pilgrim’s Path, glad to see that Veronica had been honest with him. It truly would be impossible to get lost. Their ancestors had taken great pains to mark it, and he imagined that the Llwyd family had maintained the area, though it was hard to say, overgrown as it was. He adjusted his burden and set off down the Path, counting altars as he passed them.

Halfor’s was easy to find. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but a simple totem of white stone wasn’t it. He expected something grand, like the cathedrals of Sothis, but this one was weathered by time and covered in moss. He dropped his offering and knelt, pressing his bloodied hands against the cold stone.

“Halfor, I beg your favor. I come with a strung bow and strong will. Please, send me prey to hunt.”

Silence followed in the wake of his words. He wasn’t sure why he expected anything else, these gods were fairy tales. False. What he had done was all that would happen. He had done what he was there to do. It was pointless to sit there and waste any more time on it.

As he rose to his feet, the ground beneath him heaved, as though he was standing on the chest of a giant. The birds went silent, and his ears popped painfully several times before his hearing seemed to sharpen. He turned as he heard something approach and came face to face with a magnificent wolf. Its amber eyes burned into his, its fur black as coal dust. They gazed at each other for a long moment before the beast turned back the way it came disappearing into the brush. 

Dimitri gave chase, following its tracks as it led him deeper and deeper into the forest. He wove through trees and scrambled up steep banks, his eyes trained on the footprints. All around him, he could hear the cries of animals and the chirping of insects, but it was the panting of his prey he cared about. 

He nocked an arrow and aimed, letting it go just as the wolf streaked by him. It missed, whizzing past the great beast by a hair’s breadth. He hurried after it, following the sound of its breathing. There was a path. He was being led to Castle Llwyd. He could hear the churning and crashing of the great lake Teutates and knew that if he just broke through the trees, he would soon find himself on its shore. Instead, he rounded a bend in the path and found himself in a burned clearing. A long stretch of the forest lay charred before him, yet more proof of his uncle’s cruelty. 

His quarry was easy to track now. Its footprints showed up well in the snow and ash. He found it backed up against the outer wall of the castle, just outside the barbican. He knelt, not wanting to send the animal running once more. They stared at each other, but the moment he went to rise, the wolf lunged at him, its jaws snapping mere inches away from his wrist. It lunged again before he could nock an arrow and he grabbed its jaws with his hands, wrenching on them. 

There was a pop and the wolf yelped, backing off, its jaw dangling uselessly—dislocated, but not broken—and Dimitri drew his bow. As his prey tried to flee, he loosed his arrow, striking the creature in the side of the neck. It fell where it had been hit, dead. There was a brassy wail over the trees, like a hunting horn. The Helfa Blaidd was over… he had succeeded. He knelt over his fallen prey and wrenched the arrow loose before slinging it over his shoulder. 

Dimitri rose to his feet, but a sudden searing pain in his thigh made him gasp and stagger backwards. The wolf landed on the ground behind him with a solid ‘thump’ and he stared uncomprehendingly down at the arrow stuck in the meatiest part of his thigh. He groped for his bow, his head whipping this way and that as he tried to get his bearings and find the source of the attack. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost missed the ‘thunk’ of a bowstring snapping forward. This second arrow lodged itself solidly just beneath his collarbone and he snarled in pain. 

He blinked in a vain attempt to clear the spots from his vision and panted for breath as his head spun. He was going to faint, he realized. Another arrow streaked by his ear, the fletching stinging across his cheek. He would die if he didn’t do something, but he was suddenly so tired, and so very dizzy. He slumped forward onto his hands and knees, gagging and wincing as the sound of his own life rushed in his ears. 

As the world faded to darkness and consciousness fled, he heard a man’s startled cry, and the roar of a bear.

***

He groaned pitifully and shifted, trying to move himself into a more comfortable position, but an intense pain shooting through his leg and torso convinced him to lie still. He realized at once that he was back in his tent, and divested of all but his trousers and socks. 

“Ah, you’ve woken?” Veronica’s voice came from somewhere nearby, but he remained still, rather than turning to look at her. The pain simply wasn’t worth it. 

“What happened?”

“You were nearly murdered, you fool. Have you any idea how inconvenient your death would have been? Have a care about what you do from here on.” Her words were harsh, but her hands were incredibly gentle as she began to inspect his injuries. “Anyhow, we won’t have any more trouble out of him, I made sure of that.”

“What are you about to do?” He asked, more in an effort to hold onto wakefulness than anything. 

“I must treat your wounds. I’m no faith healer, but I can get you moving. Stay still and bear with it.” 

Before he could ask what she meant, he felt an incredible pain in his shoulder, quite unlike any he’d felt since that day in Duscur, but soon it was replaced by a strange numbness.

“We were lucky, your Crest saved your life. Are you numb yet?"

“Y-yes. What did you–”

“Yarrow root. Don’t move, I’m going to remove the arrow now; it’s probably still going to hurt.”

He hissed as he felt her pressing into his wound, her bare fingers still startingly cold as they carefully parted the flesh. He felt tears sting at his eyes as something sharp prodded into him, first on one side, and then the other. 

“G-goddess… can you tell me what you’re doing?” He gagged in the wake of another wave of pain. He didn’t trust himself to speak again. Veronica sighed and dabbed at his forehead with a warm, damp rag. 

“Focus on breathing, slowly. You’ll faint again if you keep this up. Now; in answer to your question, I have a pair of large feathers that I boiled clean and clipped the ends off of. I’m using them to cap the barbs of the arrow, and now; I am going to work it free. Breathe Your Highness; this will hurt, but it won’t take long.”

It  _ did _ hurt. It hurt horribly, but he forced himself to focus instead on her steady, purposeful movements as she carefully wiggled and pulled on the offending object. It was easier to look at her face and take in the sharpness of it, the fierceness of her eyes, the fine arch of her eyebrows than it was to think about how close he came to death; and how part of him dearly wished he’d found it. He grimaced at the squishy, squelching sound the arrow made as it came free; and with it, a new rush of pain. Veronica immediately rose up onto her knees, pressing evenly down onto his wound with a clean shirt to staunch the bleeding. 

“I’m… sorry. I tried to be gentle, but these have to come out.”

“I–I know. Thank you.”

“Save your thanks, you’ve still got one more to suffer through.”

The pressure on his chest abated after several minutes and once again that strange numbness spread through the area. He struggled into a seated position with her help and swooned as blood rushed to his head. He cooperated gladly as Veronica wrapped bandages around his chest and shoulder, tightly enough to keep pressure on the wound, but not so tight that it was painful to breathe. He shivered in the chilly air and she helped him shrug his way into a clean shirt, and then draped a fur around his shoulders. 

He watched as she leaned out of the tent towards the fire with the bloody black feathers–the feathers of a crow or raven, he realized–and washed them in the pot boiling in the coals. He could smell rosehips and some sort of meat cooking; likely meant to give him the strength to make the trip out. He wasn’t sure if he truly felt better being able to see what she was doing or not, but he didn’t look away as she carefully cut his trouser leg open to get at the wound.

“How bad is it?” He asked, gritting his teeth as he braced himself for the yarrow root.

“It’s an arrow stuck in your thigh. It can only ever be bad,” she said. 

Dimitri laughed a little at that, but it quickly became a pained sort of yowl as she inserted the quills. He focused on his breathing, fighting to keep himself conscious as his vision began to blur again. It felt like an eternity of pain as she tugged and wiggled the arrow, slowly working it out. He whimpered pitifully as it finally came free and Veronica once again bore down on him. 

“There now, the worst is done. Once you feel able, I need you to eat, and then we must go. Though I don’t think they’re in the immediate area, there are likely more about.”

She tied the bandage off with a neat bow before she dabbed sweat away from his face once more before she leaned forward to press her lips against his forehead. They sat there in a tense, awkward silence for only a moment before she pulled away, looking satisfied. 

“Your temperature seems fine, so it seems you neither lost too much blood nor have a fever.”

He wanted to make some sort of quip, but his mind was simply too muddled and sluggish to come up with anything clever; so he chose to nod instead. Veronica held the mug to his lips with the same care she’d used to dress his wounds and he swallowed the warm drink down, surprised at how parched he was. He no longer remembered what rosehips tasted like, other than ‘tart’ and ‘floral,’ but those words didn’t evoke the same response they once would have. It  _ smelled _ good, at least. 

He accepted a piece of meat from her, and didn’t trouble himself over what it was; it seemed to be some sort of bird. Quail maybe. She watched him eat, far more attentive than she’d seemed any other time. He couldn’t quite read her expression, but he thought that maybe she seemed worried for him; and she fed him slowly enough that he found his stomach settling. He no longer felt that he would faint or vomit, and the pain had seemingly faded into nothing but a dull ache. 

“I think… I’m alright. I ought to be able to move at least. Thank you.”

Veronica nodded and stood, wordlessly shovelling dirt over the fire to snuff it out. Dimitri dressed himself carefully, so that he didn’t simply begin to bleed all over again. He wished he’d thought to bring a suture needle and catgut, but it would have been worthless for him–he’d have simply bent the needle and bled to death–and he didn’t know that she knew how to do that anyway. He paused as he noticed his wolf lying by the treeline.

“You went back for that?” He asked. Veronica paused and followed his gaze, but returned to her task of uprooting the tent.

“Well that’s what this fool’s errand of yours was all about. You returning empty handed  _ and _ injured would weaken your position further, and thereby make  _ me _ unsafe. You’re not much use to me in such a position.”

_ Ah, there it is. _

“How very kind of you,” Dimitri mumbled, struggling to his feet. He took on the task of rolling the furs neatly and tying them together, taking care not to jostle his injuries too much.

Veronica laid the oiled canvas tent out flat, and rolled the carcass up within it to create a tidy package. Dimitri joined her in tying the ropes around it, and he placed his pack and bow beside it on the ground before making his way to the small copse protecting his horse. 

The creature nickered at him as he approached, expecting more food, but instead Dimitri untied his lead and bade him to follow. He draped the blanket across the horse’s back, but Veronica made a strange hissing sound at him when he reached for the saddle, and he looked up to see her giving him a reproachful stare.

“I can’t very well leave it here.”

“You also shouldn’t lift it. You haven’t any sutures in fool, you’ll begin bleeding again. Move, I shall do it.”

He remained where he was, frowning as she came to stand toe to toe with him. He hadn’t noticed before, but she was quite tall for a girl, being eye level with his nose. She looked thoroughly unimpressed by his defiance. 

“I’m hardly helpless, My Lady. Certainly not so much that I need you–underfed and exhausted as you are–to do this for me,” he said. 

“I can  _ fix _ that. It would certainly be easier than fixing you should your foolish need to appear strong and capable in front of  _ me _ dislodge the clots. Now move, I’ll not tell anyone you needed a  _ girl _ to help you.”

Frustrated, Dimitri stepped aside and allowed her to heave the saddle onto the beast’s back. She struggled with it far more than he ever would, but if it tired her out, she made no indication. She allowed him to secure the girth and bridle while she slung the pack over her shoulders; and then she knelt beside the wolf. She reached out to trace a pattern across the canvas, murmuring something he couldn’t hear. He watched in surprise as she slung the lifeless sack over her shoulder with nary a grunt, and stepped out of her way as she draped it over the horse’s flanks. 

“How did–”

“There is more to magic than flinging fireballs. As you are so keen to remind me, I am exhausted; I have to use what little strength I have left wisely, or else I will be unable to make use of it when I need it most. Now; more importantly, have you got everything?” 

Dimitri cast a look around, patted his belt for his knife, and nodded. Everything was accounted for, and his prize was safely secured to the horse’s back. Everything was in order. 

“Yes, we’re ready.”

“Good. Up you go then,” she said, stroking the horse’s neck as she waited for him to climb into the saddle. The horse sniffed and snorted, ears forward and posture relaxed. “There, there. You’re tired, aren’t you? Poor thing.”

She spoke so gently that it was jarring. With her many cruel, waspish barbs, he’d nearly forgotten that she was a girl he barely knew. One who perhaps hadn’t always been the way he knew her now. To preserve her quieter, gentler mien, Dimitri climbed up carefully, without complaint. Veronica spared him a quick glance to ensure that he was settled, and led them through the trees at a quick clip; following the path he’d made. 

Everything about her body language told him she was on high alert; watching and listening for any sign of danger. He longed to talk to her, if only to stave off his own boredom, even though he knew that doing so would only earn him scorn; but she was  _ there _ and she didn’t care who he was. She treated him as though he weren’t special, and he found he appreciated her honest distaste for him far more than all the mindless respect in the world. 

“Why did you take such a strange path through the wood? Would a straight line not have made more sense?” Her sudden question made him jump. 

“I saw  _ your _ prints and became curious. It was so odd to see them, I wanted to understand. In the end, it was fortuitous, I suppose.” 

Veronica was quiet for a moment, as though she were mulling his words over. Finally, she shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at him. 

“No, they couldn’t have been mine; I was coming from the other direction. We were trying to get  _ out _ , not in. So you were either right, and there is a bear about, or something thought to play a prank on you.”

_ Or help me. _

“This truly is an odd place, isn’t it?” He asked. Veronica hummed, stepping carefully around a ring of mushrooms in their path, which hadn’t been there when he’d last come through. He looked forward to getting out of the forest; at least for a little while.

“Stranger than you know, Your Highness.”

They lapsed into silence once more, but the void was filled by the songs of birds and the distant call of a bull moose; a way ahead, he could see a break in the trees. They would be out very soon. He sighed, relaxing his shoulders as he did so. 

_ Soon. _

***

Dimitri fully expected consequences for his actions. He’d anticipated anger and worry, he expected to hear all about the search parties and uproar. He knew he would be boxed about the ears by Rodrigue. He  _ hadn’t _ expected it all to happen so soon. He blinked in surprise as a small party of people stared back at him as they emerged from the forest. 

Veronica paused, clearly just as surprised as he was to see them there, but she tensed almost immediately, recognizing the banners of the Royal Army–a sight she was likely still wary of. Rodrigue stood at the front, his arms crossed, stormy eyes burning with righteous indignation. As they came closer, Dimitri could see just how close Veronica was to bolting, and he prayed to any god that might listen that she wouldn’t; with the tenseness of the situation, he feared that any sudden movement on her part would end in tragedy. 

“I hope you have a very good explanation for this, Your Highness.” Rodrigue’s tone was easy, but Dimitri knew him well; he was positively beside himself.

“Forgive the trouble, but you left me little choice. In these uncertain times, I must have presence; if only for the people’s peace of mind, but as the Lords are determined to hide me away, I must force their hands. I have completed the Helfa Blaidd; you must stop treating me like a child.”

Rodrigue’s shoulders slumped as he let out an exasperated sigh. He ran his hand through his indigo hair–flecked now with silver that hadn’t been there a year prior–and when he opened his eyes again, he was smiling ruefully. 

“You truly are Lambert’s son. So willful.” He turned his attention to Veronica now, his eyes wary. Veronica neither moved nor spoke, but from where he was, Dimitri could see the fine tremor in her hand; she was afraid. 

“And what have we got here? The Helfa Blaidd doesn’t usually involve uncovering vanished children, Dima. Which Llwyd have you brought us?” 

Veronica straightened her back and raised her head defiantly, her fists clenched at her sides. In that moment, Dimitri was reminded of Lady Maeve on the gallows. He nudged the horse forward, putting himself between her and the others. 

“She saved my life, Rodrigue. If we hadn’t met, I likely wouldn’t be here; I owe her a debt,” Dimitri said. Veronica looked up at him, her strange pale eyes wide with shock. Had she thought he would simply abandon her to her fate the moment he was safe?

“That’s all very well, but we’ve bigger problems at hand,” Veronica said, finally shaking off her fear and surprise,”His Highness is injured. I removed the arrows and dressed his wounds, but yarrow isn’t a miracle plant; the pain will return soon. He needs proper treatment and sutures.”

Gustave rode forward, his expression stony and suspicious. Dedue remained where he was, but with a similarly mistrustful look on his face. Though he didn’t move, Dimitri could see that Gustave’s hand rested on his weapon. 

“And are we to believe the child of traitors? How are we to know it wasn’t  _ you _ who wounded him?” Gustave asked. There was a murmur of agreement among the Knights, but Veronica simply laughed.

“Because; you old fool, if  _ I _ had attacked him, it would not benefit me to then tend to his wounds and help him escape the forest, knowing the Kingdom’s opinion of myself and my family as I do. Besides, why would  _ I _ use a bow instead of magic?” She tilted her head to the side, baring her teeth in a cruel smile. “Are you all so hungry for blood that you would murder me? Was the rest of my family and all of Duscur not enough?”

“You little… you  _ dare _ –”

“ **Enough** . I am not such a fool that I cannot keep track of events that directly involve me. Veronica saved my life, and as such I will protect hers. None of you are to harm her.” His voice sounded strange to his ears, hard and sharp. He could feel their bloodlust, and it fueled his own. 

“Let’s all be calm now. Lady Llwyd is correct, His Highness needs immediate care. We can decide what to do once he is safe. My Lady, I will escort you, if it pleases you,” Rodrigue said. 

“Nothing you do will please me, Duke Fraldarius,” Veronica said. Rodrigue chuckled, seemingly unconcerned with her snappishness. She slapped his hand away when he offered it to her, choosing to hoist herself up behind him on his horse instead. 

Dedue came up alongside him, helping Dimitri from the back of one horse to the other. Dimitri held onto his waist and buried his face into his shoulder as the pain shot through him. He felt exhausted now, as though the trials of the day hit him all at once. 

“Hold onto me, Your Highness. We’re moving now.” Dedue’s voice was low and soft, and Dimitri murmured nonsensically in response; focusing on Dedue’s solid warmth and sweet, spicy scent to stave off the pain. He could only hope that the ride back went swiftly. 

***

Her skin burned as she found herself pressed against the Duke’s back. He was too warm, too solid. She’d grown to hate touch, and now to be forced to touch another was torturous. What were they planning? Would they lock her away? Beat her to death and lie about it later? Had she the strength, she would run, but the longer she sat there, the weaker she felt. The trials of the past several days had finally caught up with her.

“You needn’t be so afraid, My Lady; His Highness has chosen to protect you, so I shall as well. I swear on my honor that I will do my utmost.”

_ Liar. _

“The time to protect me has long since passed, Duke Fraldarius. If you tried that day, you failed. I don’t trust you, nor do I care for your honor.” If he wished to kill her for her disrespect, he could. Though the Prince made a show of protecting her, he would discard her as soon as she was no longer useful. She was not so foolish that she would put her faith in someone else;  _ she  _ was the only person left that she could trust.

“I… yes. I did. His Majesty would hear nothing of it when either I or Margrave Gautier attempted to dissuade him. For that, I am sorry. You and your family suffered for our failure.”

She could taste his contrition in his voice. It tasted of bergamot and lemon, but with a bitter pithiness. It nearly turned her stomach with its falseness. If he were truly so sorry, then he would do more than simply disagree with the Grand Duke while continuing to bend his knee. A dog had more honor; at least a dog would bite the one who kicked it. 

“Your apologies are meaningless. They do not make the dead live, nor do they absolve you or anyone else of their guilt; and as long as there is life in me, I’ll not let any of you forget it.”

“You really are very much like Maeve. It would be endearing if you were anyone else; but I hardly trust you not to put a knife between my ribs,” The Duke said. 

“Had you any sense, you wouldn’t. It is only through my own debt to His Highness that I temper my hatred, but I have no plans to forgive you or anyone else in this godforsaken country.”

_ I owe him for the lives I didn’t save. _

“Hatred is a poison, My Lady. Take care that it doesn’t consume you,” The Duke said. Veronica snorted, rolling her eyes skyward.

“Hemlock is a poison. Hatred will sustain and drive me until I complete my goals.”

They lapsed into silence, and Veronica clutched at the Duke’s cloak, allowing the fine wool to ground her. She knew she should put on her gloves, but despite the chill and the warmth coming from the man in front of her, she found herself reluctant. She needed to feel something. It had been so long. 

“I… don’t believe your family had anything to do with what happened in Duscur. Maeve was many things; and not all of them were good, but she wouldn’t have done that. I truly believe that.”

“Mother tried to warn him not to go. Our informants had all gone underground and wouldn’t answer us. She found it suspicious given the timing. He didn’t listen,” she said. She was so tired. Tired enough that the Duke’s back looked like a good place to rest her head. 

“You would tell me this? Are you not worried I would use that to my advantage?”

“It no longer matters. I am all that’s left, and Uncle Emrys has likely reestablished himself by now. For him, I am unconcerned; as for myself, the odds are already biased in your favor.”

She stifled a yawn and forced herself to remain awake. It wasn’t safe to rest yet. This man, despite his easy, pleasant voice and false politeness likely wanted to kill her. It would be easy for him to do now; he could probably even make it look like an accident. If he or any of these people had any brains at all, they would do it. They would kill her now before she had a chance to kill them.

***

It was chaos when they arrived. The numbing the yarrow provided had worn off and the Prince looked to be in great pain; though he made no sound. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but feel for him. She wanted to hate him, she wanted to hate him so fiercely that he would die on the spot, but she couldn’t muster it. 

She winced as she jumped down, something popping painfully in her knee when she landed. Such a thing wouldn’t have bothered her before, but her thinness had eaten away at her muscles as well. 

“Come with us, Young Lady. You need to be examined as well.” Veronica frowned at the healer, lifting her chin in defiance. 

“I need nothing from you. Leave me be,” she snapped.

“I’m afraid I must insist. You look sickly.”

Veronica opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was a yelp as she was grabbed by a pair of knights. She struggled and fought, but they only held tighter, so tight that she knew she would have bruises. 

_ Please stop. Please let go. Please don’t touch me. _

She was dragged and unceremoniously dropped on the floor of a sterile room; the infirmary, she supposed. The smell of antiseptic and soap turned her stomach; she felt caged in and desperate to escape. 

“Alright now, let me have a look at you.”

Veronica froze as the elderly healer knelt in front of her, her shrivelled old face scrunched in consternation. She wanted to shove her away, but her body wouldn't move, even as another pair of hands divested her of her coat. Her voice tasted of lavender and something murky. She hated it.

“Awfully skinny. Torn nails. Excuse me, dear; this won’t take long.” 

Veronica didn’t react as the healer put her ear to her chest. Why couldn’t she move? They weren’t using magic, so why? What were they going to do to her?

“Give her breathing a listen Paula. What do you think?” Someone else pressed against her back briefly, and there was a beat of silence. 

“Wheezy. There’s a little rattle in there. Coming down with pneumonia, I think. There’s some blood here, I think–yeah. Knife wound, maybe.”

The Prince’s assailant, she wanted to say. He’d plunged his knife into her back, just above her shoulder blade. The words were lodged in her throat, but they didn’t seem to care.

“Does it need stitches?” One asked. 

“I’d say so. It’s deep,” answered the other. Always talking about her but never to her. Veronica watched mutely as the old healer readied a curved needle and thick, catgut thread, and didn’t flinch when Paula cleaned her wound. All but the worst pain went largely unnoticed; how was she to care when everything hurt?

“Alright dear, you’ve been very good for us, but we’re going to put you to sleep for a little while. There’s no need for you to feel this.”

There was a soft pulse of warmth at the back of her head, and she felt herself drifting away. She’d felt this many times since that night, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d wake up at all this time. Part of her hoped she wouldn’t.

***

Veronica looked between the two young men seated in chairs at the foot of her bed. Veronica toyed with a lock of her hair–shorter than the rest, shorn under the orders of the King Regent–anger simmering low in her belly. The Prince looked properly contrite, while the other; a young man from Duscur, sat stone faced. She found his taciturn nature more comfortable, so she chose to look at him instead. 

“So your uncle  _ demanded _ a lock of my hair while I slept, and a healer cut it without my permission? Am I an animal now?”

She already knew the answer, she would truly have to be an idiot to think any of these people would bother to see her humanity. To the Prince, she was a useful tool, to the Regent, she was a valuable hostage; and to all the others she was a dangerous witch to be destroyed at the first chance. She was surprised to see that she was in a proper room with a fire burning pleasantly in the hearth, the floor spread with furs. She’d expected to wake in a cell.

_ Like my old one. Oh Daphne… _

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop them, but…” the Prince shoved his hand through his hair, frustration bleeding from him, “even after everything, certain people still refuse to listen.”

“Your uncle and his lap dogs were never going to listen to you. If what you say is true–and I am inclined to believe it is–your uncle is usurping your throne. You knew this going in. This is a coup, he’s just using this war as a means to hide that fact,” she said.

“I… yes. I know. I apologize, it’s just frustrating. I had hoped to avoid your being used for his efforts. If it helps matters, your uncle and his forces have begun to withdraw. He will be safe; for now, at least.”

He had the look of a kicked puppy, with his big blue eyes blinking apologetically at her from under his messy fringe of blonde hair. She couldn’t possibly maintain any real anger when he looked at her like that, no matter her opinion of him. It was simply no fun if he didn’t fight back.

“There’s naught to be done about it now. I take it you’ve filled your friend here in on all the details?” She asked. The Prince nodded and turned to the boy in question, a warm smile spreading across his face. 

“Yes, forgive me for not introducing you sooner. This is Dedue, he’s a dear friend. Dedue, this is Lady Veronica Llwyd.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dedue said.

“Likewise. Now… if I am to truly function to the best of my ability, there are some things I need,” Veronica said. Her voice dropped; just above a whisper, though the Prince seemed at ease with whoever was guarding the door, she would take no chances. 

“Name them and I will see what I can do.”

“Therein lies the rub. Everything is in my family’s vault. It  _ should _ still be intact, unless they had a skillful enough mage to break into it; or even thought to try.”

“So… what you mean to say is that you need to return to your home and recover a few things? Personal effects and the like?” the Prince offered. 

“Something like that, but I’m sure we can come up with a more convincing story. I doubt I have any personal effects left after everything.” 

They were silent for several long moments, each considering the best course of action. It was Dedue who spoke next, his words deliberate. 

“Is there anything that might  _ benefit _ the Regent, even indirectly?” He asked. Veronica hummed, mulling his question over. There were many things in there that had value; many even that would have value to the Regent in particular, but she’d never hand them over. The Prince looked at her, his expression already placating. 

“There is one thing I can think of that would be of interest to him and–perhaps–send a message to your own uncle. You’re probably not going to like it, though.” His tone was halting and nervous, but he held eye contact with her. 

“I can already tell I won’t. Get on with it.”

“Your family’s holy relic–the Sword of Dymestl–would work. It would demonstrate a willingness to–”

“It would demonstrate that I capitulate to tyrants. Turning over such a thing; even if only temporarily, would make me look weaker than I already do. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but your uncle murdered the rest of them; I am the last surviving member of my House. Granting him such a thing… I will not do it. I’d sooner be flayed alive than bend my knee to him.”

She crossed her arms and arched her eyebrow in challenge. What was the fool thinking? Her family had lost too much to the High Lords over the years. Artifacts, books,  _ bodies _ . They had lost whole people in a vain attempt to keep what little they still had.

“What if you weren’t presenting it to him, but rather… someone else? Pledging your family’s blade to me would both send a message to  _ your  _ uncle and those loyal to him to stand down, and mine that your family has cast their lot. Would that be more agreeable, Lady Llwyd?” His tone suggested that this wasn’t merely a kind offer.

_ Always. Always the same choice, over and over. Kneel and pledge your loyalty. Give us your land. Give us your freedom. Give us your identity. Is there anything the wolves of House Blaiddyd don’t hunger for? _

“Well played. I see you intend to leave me little choice but to do this. I will bend my knee to you in order to salvage what little remains of my House, just as my ancestors did. How very shrewd of you.” 

“I apologize, truly. This was never my intention, but…” the Prince took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again, they were hard, “the situation has evolved. House Rowe has sworn their sword to my Uncle, which gives him full access to Arianrhod. On top of all that, he’s made some… unexpected changes to the staff. He has informed me that he’s made some additions to cope with the unique  _ challenges _ your residency brings.”

_ Ah, of course he would. _

“I see. I had thought the fact that I couldn’t feel magic here was odd. I take it they’ve created silencing wards or something similar. Wise.”

“Yes. Lady Cornelia has also lent him some of her students to… keep an eye on you. Your reputation precedes you,” he sighed and leaned forward in his chair, “I am not attempting to wrestle you into servitude, but I promised to protect you and this is the most direct way to do so; at least for the time being. I assure you that your relic will be kept safe and returned as soon as possible.”

Veronica sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had little other choice, the Prince was right. Vassalage would allow her some modicum of authority and freedom within the castle. It would keep her out of a cell. Returning home under the pretense of gathering the sword and swearing it to the Regent would hopefully give him reason to allow it. No matter how she tried to find fault with it, the fact remained that it was a solid story and a politically smart move on the Prince's part. 

“As much as it disgusts me, I… submit. Don’t make me regret it, Your Highness.”

“I swear to you to do my utmost. Thank you; I realize this is… a historically painful decision for you. We’ll take our leave so that you may rest, and make arrangements to travel when we are deemed well enough.”

Veronica nodded, settling back against her pillows. The Prince and Dedue bowed wordlessly and left her to her thoughts. Veronica rubbed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, shaking her head as the guilt settled in.

_ Forgive me Mother.  _

  
  
  
  
  



	6. A Modest Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and company go out for a day, seeking to better the lives of the Kingdom's common folk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This project has taught me that reusing entire chapters is valid actually. 
> 
> Please let me know how I'm doing! If there's anything you think I could improve, don't be afraid to tell me.

Dedue clutched he handle of the metal pail, making his way down the neatly cobbled path towards his favorite part of the Royal gardens. Despite the chill, it still flourished; cultivated as it was with plants native to Faerghus, their hardy blooms and tough roots enabling them to thrive where most would perish. He smiled to himself as he inspected the well tended plots of yellow primroses and hellebore, witch hazel and indigo honeywort. The air was sweet with the scent of winter honeysuckle and loam. Faerghus was cold, hostile, and unforgiving, but he had found beauty in it, and he would hold on to it. He would protect it.

_ I will protect him. _

He paused at the sound of song nearby, and peered through a gap in a holly hedge to see that it was the girl His Highness had found in the forest. She gently clipped back hellebore and primroses, arranging the blooms in a simple vase. Splashed throughout were crimson cyclamen and clusters of white phlox. It was a beautiful bouquet, and not the sort of thing he would have expected from her. She seemed hateful and cold, much like the country that had reared her, but she worked with such care that he could almost imagine that she would have been kind in a better world. Normally, he wouldn’t consider imposing himself upon someone else, but he had so few friends, and fewer still that appreciated flowers as he did.

_ I will not think about why. _

“Your voice is lovely,” he said. Her head whipped around so quickly he cringed, wondering if she’d hurt herself. Her strange eyes–pale and too large for her face, like some sort of deep sea fish–were wide with surprise; or perhaps fear, but she schooled her expression into something unknowable. Only the red rising in her cheeks and ears told him she was embarrassed. 

“...Thank you. Forgive me, I see that I am imposing on your personal time; I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait.”

He wasn’t sure what made him stop her. Usually he was glad to be alone in the garden, but he felt that she needed to be there. It had been weeks since she’d arrived, and this was one of the few times he’d seen her out of her room. He didn’t know her, but he felt linked to her through suffering. 

_ Faerghus has stolen from you too. _

“Would you like to help? There’s much to do,” he said. “Company would be welcome.”

“I am poor company… but I will help, if you wish.”

They fell into an easy silence as they each chose a flowerbed and began the process of weeding and pruning. She hummed quietly as she worked, her long braid of inky hair spilling over her shoulder. She seemed at ease here; more so than she ever had any other time. 

“Where did you learn the art of floral arrangement?” Dedue asked. He was unused to needing to fill the silence, but talking to her felt safe. Her shoulders tensed briefly, but she rocked back on her heels and looked up at the sky briefly, as though gauging the weather. 

“It’s a hobby I picked up when I was a child. I've always been fascinated by plants. They can be used for so many things, even to convey messages; so I took to creating arrangements for myself. Mother considered it a waste of time, so I often did it in secret; or I would ensure the plants weren’t merely pretty to look at…” she trailed off, returning to her work once more. “Forgive me, that must sound trite to you.”

“Time enjoyed is time well spent, My Lady.” That was what his mother had always said, at least.

She looked at him then, her dark brows arched in surprise; but soon a small, weak smile flitted over her lips. It was a tiny, crooked thing that died almost as soon as he saw it; but it had been genuine. He wondered if it had always looked that way, or if once she’d smiled wide and bright.

“My brother used to say something similar. I had nearly forgotten it; thank you, Dedue.”

Silence fell over them once again, only filled by the sound of rustling weeds and the occasional cry of a gull overhead. There was still much about Faerghusian society he’d yet to learn, and she was part of it; people seemed wary of her, even His Highness didn’t seem to trust her, but all he saw was a frightened girl in a hostile place.

“You don’t seem to be well liked, My Lady.”

“I… am not. I’m sure you’ve heard much gossip. My family was already quite unpopular before all this; and I am what is left of it, I am all they have to heap their hatred on. So I must carry it,” she said.

“I suppose that explains why you have no qualms in being seen with me, My Lady.”

She shrugged, giving him that same weak smile again. She shivered in the cold air and tugged her coat more tightly to herself before hiding her hands in her pockets.

“We are both pariahs here, Dedue; we have both learned how it is to be hated for crimes that don’t belong to us. I would sooner put my faith in you than any that proclaim themselves decent.”

She had a point, he thought. It seemed to him that they had something in common, even if it were for different reasons. He took comfort in that; if nothing else, he could say her presence gave him someone to share his exasperation with. 

“May I ask one last question?” He asked. She tilted her head inquisitively, her expression openly curious. She was cute, he thought. 

“You seem happy today. Are you feeling better?”

“Ah… yes, I suppose I am. It’s nice to be outside; and… I feel that I can speak openly with you, without layers of metaphor. It’s… nice.”

That was a sentiment he knew all too well, one he’d been hesitant to share. He never wanted to burden His Highness with his worries or fears. He was to be his shield, and a shield didn’t complain; but perhaps, he could with her. They  _ would _ be partners, after all.

“There you two are! I’d wondered where you’d gotten off to, Veronica,” His Highness said. He looked well rested. His blue eyes were clear and bright, and his smile actually touched them for once. It was a truly beautiful sight. Lady Llwyd’s expression became shuttered, her guard up once again; clamped shut like a clam shell. 

“Well you’ve found me. What did you want?” she rose to her feet, taking her vase in hand. His Highness faltered momentarily, but recovered. 

“The healers would like to check us. If we are deemed well enough, we could depart for Castle Llwyd as soon as tomorrow.” He seemed excited, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. His Highness was never quite content to simply sit still and do nothing; he was always moving and working. Staying busy helped him, he had said, the past weeks had been trying. 

“Very well. I’ll… meet you there; allow me to take this back to my room,” she said. 

“Oh! They’re very pretty, did you do it yourself? I had no idea you kept such a hobby,” His Highness said. Lady Llwyd’s lips pursed and she seemed to be clamping her jaw, a muscle twitched just beneath her left ear.

“Hellebore is poisonous,” she huffed, turning her back on them both; her strides quick and purposeful. Dedue found himself chuckling at that, where only yesterday he would have taken it as a threat and put himself between them. His Highness looked at him in bewilderment, but Dedue simply shrugged.

“Hellebore  _ is _ poisonous.” 

***

“Ah, there you are, Little Bird,” Veronica paused as an unfamiliar voice came from behind her. She turned and frowned as a man strode towards her; it was his resemblance to both the late King and the Prince that told her who he was, “I had wondered when we would be properly introduced.”

She took a step back, curtseying awkwardly as she balanced her vase against her hip. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I have been unwell; it wouldn’t do for you to fall ill,” she said. The pig smiled, but it lacked all the warmth of his relatives. 

“Oh I know, dear girl; that was hardly an admonishment. Maeve raised a smart girl; you’ll behave, surely,” he said. His voice was oily and unpleasant, like fermenting apples and bacon fat; she only just managed to avoid wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I know which way the wind blows; what good would come from causing trouble?” Her stomach turned at his chuckle. 

“That’s a good girl. I’m glad we understand each other; Emrys is more useful alive, after all,” he said. 

The Regent plucked a primrose from her vase and tucked it behind her ear.  _ Infidelity, suspicion _ . There had been thirteen in the vase, and now there were only twelve.  _ Unlucky. _

“Emrys is safe for now, it would behoove you to sit tight and do as I say, if you wish to keep him that way. He’s all you have left here in Faerghus, after all,” he said. 

She resisted the urge to slap his hand away as his thumb brushed against her bottom lip. He was too close. She could smell tobacco and mint emanating from his clothes. He reminded her too much of every other man that had ever coveted her Crest; either for their sons, or themselves. He held her gaze firmly as he bent forward, deliberate and predatory. 

“I have a request for you, Little Bird.”

“What might that be, Your Majesty? I’ll see to it, if I can,” she said. She didn’t like this man. She didn’t like the way his smile looked or the cold cruelty in his pale blue eyes. She hated the taste of his words. 

“My nephew is… well, I feel he’s perhaps gotten something in his head that he ought not. I would like for you to keep an eye on him. The poor little thing… he’s such a fool; and he may be  _ selfish _ enough to drag you into his nonsense. You  _ really _ can’t afford to be caught up in his trouble.”

_ Too late for that. _

“Are you implying that I ought to spy on His Highness, Your Majesty?” She asked. The Regent smiled at her, those cold eyes pinning her to the spot.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t say  _ that _ . Just… keep an eye on him; and perhaps, if you see anything interesting, let me know. I would  _ hate _ for you to get caught up in his mess. It’s been so hard on him since Lambert and Patricia passed away you see, I’m a poor replacement for both; but… I may yet have to teach him what being a man is all about.”

“... Of course, Your Majesty; I would… be happy to,” she said. The Regent smiled once more and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his fingers trailing over her shoulder, her braid now held in his hand; which he also kissed. 

“Wonderful. You’re a smart girl, Veronica. Maeve would be proud; I’ve no doubt you’ll be her equal one day. Good day, Little Bird. Be good.”

He made his way back down the corridor, leaving her there shaking and angry. Her skin prickled and burned from his touch and she found herself considering all the ways she could simply kill him and be done with it; but she dismissed the thoughts. She would be the first they suspected, and Dedue would be the next. As long as they were near each other, she would not be the only one in danger. Revenge would have to wait until it could be taken safely.

***

“There you are; I had begun to wonder if you’d gotten lost,” Dimitri said. In truth, he’d begun to lose his patience. He had things he needed to do, and this was wasting his time. 

“You didn’t need to wait on me,” she said. Dimitri shrugged, pushing himself away from the wall to stand up straight. She seemed oddly troubled, as though something had happened in the time that she’d been away. 

“Are you well?”

“I’m  _ fine _ . Mind yourself.”

Dimitri huffed and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor, chewing on his lip. She’d been calm and even friendly when she was alone with Dedue, but she continued to be a contrarian where he was concerned. What had he ever done to her to deserve such treatment? Were the sins of those who shared his blood so grave that they damned him too?

“Dedue and I are going into town later; I have some business to attend to. Would you like to come?”

“What sort of business?”

“I wanted to speak with the local parishes and arrange a food and essentials charity. Winter is near, and people are already beginning to suffer. It’s imperative that we get ahead of it,” he said. 

“Would that old guard dog of yours even  _ allow _ me to leave? He seems to take holding my leash rather seriously.”

“I’m sure I could convince him. You were so ill, after all; some exercise would do you well.” In truth, he wasn’t hopeful. Gustave was a stubborn old man, and he was quite unambiguous about his feelings about Veronica. 

Veronica hummed, crossing her arms over her chest, a thoughtful look on her face. She met his gaze evenly, looking oddly open and curious. It was the first time she’d looked at him with interest rather than contempt, and he found it refreshing, if a bit off putting. 

“It’s odd… your voice is so unlike his; and yet, you are family.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” he said. She looked away quickly, shrugging her shoulders. Had he said something wrong? Had she been trying to start a conversation with him? Before he could prompt her to speak her mind, the infirmary door opened, revealing a flustered healer. 

“Good heavens, how long have you been waiting, Your Highness? Come, come! Forgive the delay,” she said. She cut a disinterested glance at Veronica as she ushered him in, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

***

“Absolutely not. She stays behind,” Gustave said, crossing his arms. Dimitri frowned, raising his chin willfully.

“I don’t believe I asked for permission, Gustave. Come along and keep an eye on her if you feel the need, but she’s coming with me regardless.” 

“It is left up to  _ my  _ discretion, Your Highness, and I have no reason to trust that she won’t try to escape the moment she’s outside the walls,” Gustave said. 

Dimitri huffed and cast a sidelong glance at Veronica. She was dressed as a Lady of her station ought to be–her navy walking suit and wide brimmed hat appropriate for the weather and her age–but looking the part was only half the battle. Gustave wasn’t wrong not to trust her, she had done nothing to earn it, but he couldn’t help himself. He  _ wanted _ to give her a chance. 

“Don’t make me order you to obey me, Gustave. You know how I hate that,” Dimitri said. 

A tug on his sleeve drew his attention away from Gustave’s infuriatingly stubborn old face and back towards Veronica. She met his eyes evenly, but there was a wry twist to her lips. His irritation vanished as she turned her gaze on Gustave, her smile widening into something uncommonly pleasant. 

“I can simply tell you later, Your Highness. It’s important, but not dire.” Her smile didn’t touch her eyes, but it had the desired effect. 

“What’s this now? If you know something, you need to tell us all right this moment,” Gustave said. Veronica’s smile never slipped, but her gaze sharpened as she honed in on Gustave’s face. Dimitri had come to recognize that as the look of a predator.

“Oh? But did you not just say that you don’t trust me? Do you not think the feeling is mutual? You’re certainly  _ eager _ to uphold the rules, no matter who made them; how am I to know that whatever I say won’t be used against me, Sir Dominic?”

Gustave bristled, his gaze hardening into the look that had cowed many a rambunctious squire, but Veronica remained unmoved; her smile only widening into that terrible, toothy thing he’d come to associate with her.

“I will tell His Highness, and  _ only _ His Highness; what he does with the information is up to him.” She raised her chin imperiously, that cruel smile firmly in place as she stared down her nose at Gustave. In spite of it all, Dimitri found himself impressed that she could seem at once so cold and so proper. 

“And you  _ must _ be alone, outside the castle to tell him?”

“The walls have ears, Sir Dominic, and they’ve no doubt been listening,” Veronica said.

Gustave sighed, nodding bitterly. He studied Veronica in silence for a few moments, his gaze appraising. Veronica’s expression smoothed, her thoughts once again hidden behind a careful mask of neutrality. 

“Fine, but I will be keeping an eye on you. If I sense even an ounce of treachery, I will see you rot in a cell. Do not make me regret this gesture of faith, Lady Llwyd.”

“I make no promises. Now let us be off, before the little rats have a chance to scurry closer.”

***

It felt odd to walk about on his arm, as though they had anything to do with one another. Their coats and gloves insulated her against feeling his warmth against her skin, but she found his awkward sort of gentleness fascinating. He cradled her arm carefully, as though he held a baby bird. Though she was neither delicate nor precious, being treated as though she were was...nice. She could never tell him, it was simply too embarrassing; but she would allow herself to know it.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” He asked, glancing down at her from the corner of his eye. She couldn’t help but admire the color of them; blue like a warm summer sky. 

“Your uncle cornered me earlier today,” she said.

“ _ Oh _ … and what did he say? He didn’t…  _ touch _ you did, he?” The Prince adjusted her arm, covering her hand with his as the wind picked up. 

“No more than any other man with a less than savory reputation ever has, no. He… asked that I “ _ keep an eye on you _ ,” he seems to suspect you; or at the very least, he believes that you’re getting out of line.” Her disgust for the pig slowly crept back in and she nearly shuddered at the way his words felt on her tongue. “He seems to think I’m the type to be easily intimidated.”

The Prince was quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking absently at the back of her hand. She realized belatedly that it was a lump left behind from an old injury that had caught his attention.

“What will you do, then?”

“I’ll not make his life easy, if that’s what you’re asking. I may… lie to him, a little. He’ll find out soon enough that my lot is cast. That weasel is so pompous,” she said. The Prince laughed lightly, and Veronica found that she liked the way it sounded. It left the bright, sweetly tart taste of fresh apples behind. 

“That would probably be the best course of action for now. He’d probably come to suspect you, as well; and at least until you’re completely under my vassalage, it could put you in danger. Yes… play along, at least for now,” he said. 

They came to a stop in front of the cathedral. It was beautiful, and from within, she could hear the rich, melodious tone of a pipe organ; the sound like currant jelly and cream. Veronica released his arm as the Prince opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. It was warm, but she only saw the city’s well to do milling about; no less fortunate to be seen. Those that recognized the Prince bowed and curtseyed, and were acknowledged politely; but Dedue was greeted with sideways glances and mistrustful stares. 

She felt anger welling up inside her on his behalf. He was just a boy, a child like herself and the Prince were; and he had lost everything. His family, his people, his culture, his freedom. How could they treat him so cruelly when it was their own country that had destroyed his? How were they not ashamed or contrite? She drew herself up and fell into step beside him, placing herself nonchalantly between them and Dedue; opposite Sir Dominic. She couldn’t save him from their misplaced hatred, but she could share it. She kept her gaze forward as they began to whisper hurriedly to one another. 

‘ _ Who is that?’ _

__ _ ‘I don’t know.’ _

_ ‘Why is she so near to that brute from Duscur?’ _

__ _ ‘Why is she with His Highness?’ _

A squat, fat little man in fine robes bustled out to meet them as they reached the front of the chapel, bowing low to the Prince; his bald head reminding her of the brown, speckled eggs their hens used to lay. 

“Your Highness! Your presence here humbles me. Have you come to offer prayers?”

“I’ve come for more earthly matters, I’m afraid. May we talk?” The Prince’s voice was steady, but there was a tenseness to it, as though he were biting out the words. His back was straight as an arrow, his shoulders back, his head held high. This was his public face, she realized; authoritative, serious and disciplined. It was almost comical, considering how soft he really was.

“Of course! Please, follow me–” he stopped and looked uncertainly at the three of them, lingering especially long on Dedue and herself, “will… they be coming as well?”

“They  _ are _ my entourage. Are you suggesting that I should send them away and put myself  _ alone _ in a room with you, Father?”

The priest turned red in the face, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment, she couldn’t quite tell. He mopped at his forehead with a finely embroidered handkerchief. There was a significant amount of purple thread...an expensive item for a priest. 

“Of course not, Your Highness! I would never presume such a thing, I simply wanted to ensure we had enough chairs, that’s all!” 

Veronica frowned as he glanced her way again. She didn’t like him. His timidity was irritating, and she got the sense that it was a ruse. Even a rat will bite when cornered, after all; and she  _ knew _ a rat when she saw one. She sidled up alongside the Prince as the priest scampered away, taking his sleeve between her fingers.

“I don’t trust this man,” she whispered. 

“As well you shouldn’t. I’ve heard through the grapevine that Uncle “donated” a large sum of money to this parish,” the Prince said. 

“Do you think he’s seeking to be legitimized by the Church?” 

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell, but I don’t wish to take any chances; and that money should have gone to the Kingdom’s people, not a priest with expensive tastes,” the Prince murmured. 

“You’ve come to see their bookkeeping? It’s unlikely they recorded any of their illicit dealings.” 

“That isn’t the point. Knowing that I know will; hopefully, make them unwilling to openly support him, and if I can leverage that hesitance to do a little good, then I consider that a victory.”

Veronica hummed and released his arm as the priest returned, beaming widely at them. He ushered them into a cozy room with a smattering of chairs, a desk strewn with parchment, and a teapot with five cups. They settled and accepted the tea, but no one drank.

“Now then, Father Comey; as you know, winter is near and our people–especially those of lesser means–are going to suffer. I would like to propose that we gather donations of money, clothing, blankets, and medicine from our wealthier citizens. Food will also be a concern; I would like to help your help coordinating with businesses in the city to provide meals and lodging for the poorest among us.”

Though she knew he had ulterior motives, his desire to help his people seemed rather genuine. His voice had lost its forced quality as he went on, becoming warmer and sweeter on the tongue. She much preferred him like this.

“Oh, well… I’m not sure if we currently have the coin to fund such an undertaking, Your Highness. Even our wealthiest citizens are beginning to struggle under the weight of winter.” 

Veronica cocked an eyebrow and cast a quick glance around the room. There were books for leisure on his shelves, which wouldn’t be suspicious in of itself if not for the fine make of his robes, and the crystal decanter of rich, burgundy wine he had attempted to hide behind a stack of scrolls. The room smelled faintly of myrrh, and then there was that damned handkerchief. Cautiously, so as not to draw attention, she tugged the Prince’s sleeve and he nodded slightly; almost imperceptible unless one was looking for it. 

“Forgive me, for speaking out of turn; Your Highness, Father; but I was under the impression that the Church collected tithes from their congregation for such a purpose. Was I mistaken?” Veronica asked. The priest turned his gaze on her, his smile only barely masking his contempt. 

“Of course, My Lady; but tithes tend to become less generous and more infrequent in the coldest months. I can understand how such a fine young woman might find that odd,” he said. Remembering her mother’s lessons, she smiled as sweetly as she could manage, keeping her tone soft and light; a pantomime of the demure, high born lady. 

“Surely you’ve got funds set aside for such an occasion, Father. To do otherwise would be quite irresponsible; or…” her voice dropped, and her smile widened to show more of her teeth, “has the parish’s savings gone to keeping you in wine, silk, and potpourri, Father Comey?” 

The Prince covered his mouth, disguising his chuckle with the clearing of his throat; while the Priest sputtered. He was truly angry now, glaring daggers at her while she smiled in return. It took him a moment to find his words, but when he did, the venom in his voice was delicious. 

“My good Lady, I  _ assure _ you–”

“No, Lady Llwyd brings up a fair point, Father. May I see your books, perhaps? Surely you must have  _ some _ funds put aside, and it isn’t as though I’d not be offering you aid. Such reluctance is… well, it’s most odd. Did my Lord Uncle not recently pay a handsome sum for this public welfare project? That  _ is _ why he's here, after all… to discuss what can be done.”

The color drained from the priest’s face as the Prince placed his full teacup down on his saucer, folding his hands primly in his lap. He was the perfect portrait of polite, princely etiquette; she almost envied the way he could feign innocence. 

“Well… well, yes; I suppose he… that is to say–”

“Your books, please; Father Comey.”

They watched as the priest hustled from the room, dabbing sweat from his forehead with his stupid handkerchief. The tension in the room dissipated as the door snapped curtly shut behind him. Veronica swiveled in her chair to face the others, a wry smile twisting her lips.

“He’s going to attempt to alter their records,” she said. 

“His behavior suggests that this is the case, yes,” Sir Dominic said, nodding his head solemnly. Dedue hummed in agreement, his mossy eyes warmly amused as they met hers.

“Veronica?” The Prince asked. 

“Hm?”

“Could I trouble you to look over my shoulder and help me keep an eye out for any… hasty changes?” 

“Anything to get me out of this room faster; it smells like Faerghus’ most luxurious outhouse.” 

She could never admit that she was having fun. This wasn’t the sort of thing people were supposed to enjoy, but she found a profound, sadistic pleasure in watching people squirm. She hadn’t always, but her time in that place had changed her. She didn’t want to face what she’d become, not right now.

***

Dimitri scanned page after page, taking note of every donation and all expenditures; scribbling hasty calculations on a loose sheet of parchment. Veronica leaned over his shoulder, her weight barely there as she looked for suspicious additions. She would squeeze his shoulder every time she found one, allowing him to keep count. 

_ For widow Edmonds… two silver, six copper _

_ For the roof… eight silver _

_ From Lord Farthing… two gold _

_ From His Majesty Rufus Celyn Blaiddyd… 3,600 gold _

_ To the gravemaker for one Mr. Darius Abbott… ten copper _

Finally he came to the end of the ledger and added up his final tally. His uncle’s “donation” had been squeezed in between two smaller entries, and had; unsurprisingly, earned him a gentle squeeze from Veronica. He almost missed her nearness now that she had returned to her seat; there had been something grounding in it. 

“It seems to me that you’ve got a surplus of about 5,000 gold, Father… provided that money has not already come and gone?” Dimitri arched his eyebrow, his irritation with the man reaching its peak as he sulked there behind his desk like an overgrown toad. 

“Of course not, Your Highness. I… simply hadn’t realized we’d amassed so much.”

_ Liar. _

“Well, now you know. Can I expect your help in this endeavor? The sooner we get started on it, the better. I’d appreciate it if you could also get me a list of names of the leaders of the smaller rural parishes. If I’m to be arranging for donations to be sent to other communities, I must know who to send it to.”

“Of course, Your Highness; I’ll have it for you by day’s end,” Father Comey said. 

“Excellent. Now, I have other business to attend to, we’ll check in with you once arrangements are set. Good day,  _ Father _ Comey.” 

They filed out of the room, and once again, Dimitri held the door for Veronica, before surrendering it to Dedue. He took her arm once more, shielding her hand with his. She tensed briefly, but relaxed as they began to walk. He was once again taken aback by how delicate she felt in his hands, but perhaps he wasn’t the best judge of sturdiness; anything would feel delicate when steel had shattered easily in your grasp, after all. 

“You were a great help in there. I appreciate your sharp tongue when it isn’t aimed my way,” Dimitri said.

“I’m sure you do. Don’t get too comfortable, Your Highness. I’ll not become docile just because you hold my leash.” Her words lacked the bite he’d come to expect from her. 

“I’ll keep it in mind. Now… are you hungry? We’ve a few more stops to make, but we have time.”

“I… could eat, yes.”

“Well, let’s go then; Dedue, Gustave? Do you have any objections to an early lunch?” He asked.

“None, Your Highness,” Dedue said. Gustave nodded his assent and Dimitri turned his attention back towards Veronica. She seemed genuinely confused as they remained still. 

“Well, do you have any preferences? There’s many good places to eat here,” he said. She frowned and looked at Dedue, as if asking for guidance. 

“There is a cafe up the street that serves fresh white fish stew, if you’re of a mind, My Lady,” Dedue said. Veronica’s shoulders visibly relaxed and she turned back to look at Dimitri. 

“I thought I had smelled fennel… that sounds nice. It’s been a long time.”

Feigning excitement for food was probably the thing he hated most in his daily life. Having to pretend that he enjoyed the meal, that he looked forward to supper time, that he  _ wanted _ to eat; even as eating reminded him of everything that had been lost that day, was excruciating. He followed his nose, only because Veronica had seemed so genuinely happy at the idea of white fish stew. 

He took a steadying breath and led them down the street towards the smell of fennel and the saltiness of fish and kelp. Veronica gripped his arm more tightly as they rounded the corner and the cafe Dedue had mentioned came into view. Her expression barely changed, but there was something like happiness in the set of her mouth; she wasn’t  _ smiling _ really, but she looked softer than she ever had. How long had it been since she’d had a casual outing? How long since she’d been around other people with no threat of violence? Her happiness made his own lack of enthusiasm fade. The food itself would bring him no joy, but at least he didn’t have to eat it alone; and he could watch someone who  _ was _ enjoying themselves. That would suffice for now, at least.

***

She was thoroughly exhausted. Lunch had been delicious, but it had done little to re-energize her, despite how substantial it had been. She’d noticed that she became tired more easily now; some days her brain was so fogged with confusion and pain that anything other than sleep was impossible. She desperately hoped she wasn’t about to experience one of those days. Not now, when she no longer had the excuse of pneumonia and months on the run to cover her weakness. She blinked rapidly in hopes that it would clear her vision, but the irritating grainy feeling of sleep didn’t leave her. 

She needed to go back and be alone. Though she could admit now that the Prince was not  _ unpleasant _ company, she didn’t exactly relish the idea that he may become concerned for her. It was too genuine. He  _ had  _ to want  _ something _ from her, and yet he always seemed to be earnest when he asked after her. She didn’t understand him. There were too many people here, and too many things to think about. How did she even move among people? She’d so rarely been among so many. The Prince’s arm was all that kept her calm; though they meant functionally nothing to each other, he was real and solid beside her and that was enough. He smelled of cedar and leather, and it was familiar and comforting. His shoulder looked… comfortable. 

“Veronica?” His voice was thoughtful and gentle to her right. 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re leaning on me quite heavily… are you hurt? Has the trip been too trying?”

Her first instinct was to wave his concern away and snap at him to mind his own business, but she lacked the strength. Did it even matter anymore? If she were going to swear herself into his service, did it not make more sense to simply try and get along? 

“I’m… sorry. It seems that I’m still not quite myself.” Lifting her head from his shoulder was difficult, but she forced herself to do so anyway. 

“That’s perfectly understandable. We can finish this tomorrow if need be. There’s no reason to exhaust you further,” he said. 

_ Too late for that. _

“No, there’s no need to change plans on my account. I will… find a bench to rest on or make my way back alone if need be. This is… important work, it shouldn’t wait.” 

Sir Dominic cleared his throat and stepped forward, extending his arm to her. She looked at him for a moment, trying to read his thoughts, but his face was blank. She released the Prince’s arm with reluctance and took the old knight’s instead. He covered her hand with his and adjusted himself to block the wind. 

“I will escort Lady Llwyd back to the castle. I imagine I can expect you two back in a timely fashion?”

“Yes Gustave. We only have a few more stops to make, we should be back long before sundown,” the Prince said, his lips twisting up into a bemused smile. 

Sir Dominic nodded once his solemn expression still obfuscating his thoughts. They set off together at a comfortable pace, neither too hurried nor too leisurely. Once they were out of earshot, Veronica grew tense, unsure of his intentions; she was alert now, removed from the false feeling of familiarity. 

“So… did I fail your little test, Sir Dominic? Is it to be off to the dungeon with me?” She asked. To her surprise, he chuckled.

“No, you failed nothing. I do not claim to understand you, but I will take your actions today into account from here on.” 

She would take that as a victory, small as it was. The less time she spent sparring with people on the periphery, the better. She would never get anything done if this shrivelled old war dog kept barking at her; and soon enough, she would need room and silence to work.

***

The sun was only just beginning to sink towards the horizon as they crested the hill, once again finding themselves in the upper market. It still bustled, but it wouldn’t be long before shops began to close for the evening. The day had been a success, despite the irritation early on. The inns had been far more amenable to lending their help, and the small church in the lower wards far more thrilled with the idea. 

Not much remained; only that he go through his parents’ old clothes and choose what to sell in order to contribute to the fund. His uncle kept a firm grip on the treasury, but he was not without avenues of his own. He didn’t relish the idea; it would be unsettling to be there among the things that made them up in his mind without them there to make them live. He had wanted to wait until El arrived for his birthday, but there really wasn’t time. 

_ There is never enough time. _

“Dedue?” He spoke only in the hope that conversation would pull his mind away from the pain, but it remained stuck. 

“Yes, Your Highness?”

_ Dimitri. My name is Dimitri. I am a person, not a crown with legs. _

Thoughts of loss found him once more, but not his own. Dedue and Veronica both had lost more than he; they didn’t have a home to return to.  _ Do I? _ They didn’t have the comfort of the familiar. He’d done what he could for Dedue, but Veronica had barely had any time to adjust. What did one do to comfort someone like her? 

“I think I’d like to get Veronica a small gift. She has so little of her own here…  _ nothing _ of her own, save what was on her person. She must be afraid and lonely… what do you think she’d like?”

He didn’t know her well enough to even make a guess. He’d known Daphne and Sebastian better. He remembered Daphne’s great love of strange things like spiders, and Sebastian’s good humor. He only ever remembered Veronica’s frightened eyes. He knew now that she liked flowers, but she could get flowers any time. He wanted to give her something more personal, something that was hers and wouldn’t simply wilt away. 

“I am… unsure, Your Highness. I don’t know her very well,” Dedue said. 

He’d ask her, but she was always so reticent, even on things that didn’t matter. She could be reasonable, but he doubted that it would extend to their interpersonal relationship. If he asked her to pick something out, she’d probably argue with him instead. She frustrated him. Sometimes it felt as though the gulf between them was shrinking, but it always widened again, like the tides washing in and out. 

He paused at a shop window, frowning as something caught his eye. The bear was simple–blue button eyes and pale fur–but it looked soft. It was a safe gift, unlikely to offend. Wordlessly, he ducked into the store, paid, and made his way back to the castle; a simple box tied shut with a green and white ribbon in hand. 

_ Per bend vert and argent, a bear.  _

***

She cracked open her door and blinked blearily up at him, her pale eyes slowly focusing on his face as she woke. She had been more exhausted than he’d thought, and he suddenly felt guilty for waking her. He hoped that she would sleep off whatever this was so that they could make their way to Castle Llwyd in the morning. 

“What is it?” She asked, her voice thick with sleep. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were sleeping so soundly; I would have let this wait until later otherwise. I… wanted to give you something; I realize it’s a bit late, but things were hectic and I didn’t know what you’d like… I’m sorry. Consider this a welcoming gift,” he said, holding the box out for her. 

She looked at him warily, her eyes jumping between his face and the box a few times before she took it from him. He worried his lip as she opened the gift and held the bear in her hand, her expression unreadable. 

“Are you trying to make fun of me, Your Highness?” She asked. Her voice didn’t sound angry, she simply seemed confused. There was a defensiveness in the set of her shoulders, but that was all. 

“No, not at all; I just… thought perhaps you’d like something soft to make your room more comfortable is all.”

“So you’re trying to buy my friendship, then? Is that it?” 

_ What? _

“No! It’s… just a gift. There is no other meaning,” he said. She shook her head, and there was something frantic in her expression when she looked back to him. Something strangely desperate and lost. 

“No one gives someone something for no reason. What do you  _ want _ ?” She clutched the bear tightly in her hand, as though it would keep her rooted to the ground, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. 

“I don’t want anything from you; I’m just trying to be nice. Sometimes people just do things because they want to,” he said. He kept his voice even and soothing, that seemed to work better with her. Rising to match her mood only made things worse. Veronica looked at him and frowned, shoving the bear against his chest.

“I can’t accept it,” she said, her tone urgent. 

“And why not?” He covered her hands with his, curling her thin fingers back around the stuffed toy. He could feel the tremor in her hands, and was surprised she didn’t pull away. 

“I just… I just  _ can’t _ .” 

“You can; it’s yours. Do with it as you see fit, but it’s up to you,” he said. She looked at him as if he’d sprouted an extra head, but she made no more attempts to rid herself of it. She looked back down at the bear then, her ears turning a soft shade of pink. 

“It’s… very cute. Are you sure?” 

She sounded so very like a girl her age. She’d always seemed so much older than her fifteen years, but standing there in a dressing gown, clutching a stuffed bear, with such uncertainty in her voice; he was reminded that she truly was just a child like he and Dedue were. 

“I’m sure.” 

She nodded and folded her arms around the bear then, shifting more awkwardly now as a scarlet flush took over her face. She edged closer to her room, so painfully unsure what to do with herself that retreat seemed to be the only option. It reminded him of one other thing he knew of her: she was strange. Enough so that most of their peers had avoided her when they were brought together. The door snapped shut between them and Dimitri huffed a laugh and wandered away down the hall, shaking his head. What sort of family had the Llwyds been if their heiress didn’t know how to accept a gift? She remained a mystery to him, even now that she was among the mundane. Whether it was worth unravelling her was yet to be seen.


	7. In the Presence of Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Veronica take a trip back to Castle Llwyd and Dimitri learns something about himself he never knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the prewritten chapters and one of the last ones I'll be reusing. There's a chance updates will change from weekly to bimonthly since I'll actually be writing again, but I doubt anyone will mind. 
> 
> As always, please let me know how you're liking it, and I hope everyone is having a good evening.

The wheels of the carriage clattered and bumped over every rock in their path, despite the driver’s care. Dimitri watched as Veronica stared out the window, twisting her handkerchief in her hands. Her face betrayed no sign that she felt anything, and he couldn’t help but find it unsettling. They were making their way to the place her old life ended, where her family were bound, their fates sealed. Did that not upset her? Had time and her trials made her so numb that she could not even muster sorrow for the people that brought her into the world?

“Still you insist upon staring at me. What is it that fascinates you so?” She asked. There was an attempt to sound as harsh as she always did, but it fell flat. Maybe it was simply that he’d gotten used to it, or perhaps it was because she was trying to keep her voice down, but he found her tone to be lacking in its bite.

“No, it’s nothing. I was merely wondering if you were upset or nervous about today,” he said.

“I am neither. There would be no point in it.”

He wished it were that simple for him. If he could simply  _ decide  _ not to be sad, he would have done so long ago. Surely she was simply being difficult again, and was not genuinely implying that she felt no sorrow for the loss of her family. She was not quite as callous as that. 

“Well, that’s good then. I’m glad that you’re okay; you’ve been quieter than usual today,” he said. She hummed, finally meeting his gaze. There was something strange and knowing in her eyes, as though she could see the thoughts he was struggling to hide. 

“I see no reason why I shouldn’t be quiet, what is there to talk about?” She studied his face for a moment before she shook her head and returned to staring out the window. 

He’d hoped they’d made some progress together, that perhaps she could at least  _ pretend _ that she was capable of cooperation, but now it felt as though she was shoving him away with both hands. Was she so determined to be miserable that she would refuse any companionship? 

“How good are you with magic?” She asked, the strangeness of her question brought his thoughts to a halt. He stared at her for a moment, trying to understand why she would even think to ask. 

“Worse than useless, I’m afraid. I never quite got the feel for it, I have always had trouble clearing my mind and focusing on it.”  _ Even more so now _ . Veronica frowned, arching her eyebrow as though confused. 

“No one is  _ useless _ with magic. You simply aren’t looking at it the right way,” she said. 

“I had the best tutors in the Kingdom, if they were unable to teach me, it’s probably not  _ their _ fault.” 

“Ah yes, because Academy trained mages are the  _ perfect _ teachers. Take off your gloves and give me your hands,” she said. She held her hands out, her expression firm. He didn’t believe that she would have any better luck with him than anyone else ever had, but he was curious. He tugged his gloves free and allowed her to take his hands in hers and watched as she studied them before nodding to herself. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“Getting a sense for your magic and its temperament; every person is a little different,” she said.

“I wasn’t even aware I had any. I had always been told that I had no talent for it.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say to a child. Just because you might lack the aptitude for what  _ they _ value doesn’t mean that you have  _ no _ talent. All things have some innate magic, it is in you as well as the dirt beneath your feet. It doesn’t have to be incredible and awe inspiring to be worth something.” She said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if it weren’t a profound truth that often went ignored. 

“And yet again, you surprise me,” he said. She claimed she found  _ him _ strange, but she had to know the feeling was mutual. She confounded him at every turn. She snorted and rolled her eyes, squeezing his hands. 

“I can’t help what you choose to make me in your mind, and I’m not going to fight against it,” she said. Dimitri winced and turned his gaze to their hands instead of her knowing eyes. 

“So… what did you learn during this little exercise?” he asked, nodding at their clasped palms. Changing the subject seemed the best course of action, at least for now.

“You have potential,” she said. 

“How can you tell such a thing simply from touching my hands?”

“As I said, magic is in everything. Even when you do not act upon it, it is always acting upon you; it leaves its mark all over everything. Anyone can feel it, you’ve probably felt it before and just didn’t realize it, but once you’re aware of it, you’ll always notice.” She tugged off one of her gloves and Dimitri found himself staring at her hand. Her fingers weren’t as skinny as they had been when they’d first met, but she’d not put on as much weight as he’d hoped she would. He took her hand when she offered it to him, careful to mind his strength. 

“What do I do? All I notice is that your hand is cold.” He placed his other hand over hers in a bid to warm her. 

“Don't think about it as though it is an abstraction, it's as real as any other force in this world. Use your senses and see if you can find it. Some find it easier to hear it, others find it easier to smell,” she shrugged and relaxed against her seat. 

Dimitri worried his lip and trailed his fingers over her palm, allowing his eyes to follow her veins until they disappeared under her sleeve. They were so  _ blue _ . He couldn’t be sure if it was because she was so pale, or if it was something unique about her, but he was certain he’d never seen veins so vibrant. He pushed her sleeve up carefully, and stared down at the network of arteries that forked beneath her bone white skin, and he was certain he could see them pulse. The rhythm was erratic and strange, more like a song than a heartbeat. He leaned down instinctively and pressed his nose against her wrist and breathed. Beneath the delicate scent of her perfume, was the smell of a summer storm. Sweet and heady, and laden with the potential for incredible violence.

“Have you found it?” she asked. He nodded, but couldn’t quite pull himself away. He found himself too enamored of the way her perfume blended with the scent of it; like wisteria and rain. She nudged him gently with her knuckles and he pulled away, his ears burning. He expected her to admonish him, but instead he was met only with mild amusement. “Good, now try to find your own.” She tugged her sleeve down and slipped her glove back on, and he found himself feeling disappointed. 

He looked down at his own hand, pushing up his own sleeve as he had hers. His own veins were not as bright as hers, but were blue just the same. Nothing in him stirred. It was all so still and silent that he would think himself dead if not for the steady push and pull of his lungs. In and out, in and out, like the tide. He loved the sea. He loved the smell of the salty air and the sound of the waves as they crashed down onto the rocks.  _ In and out. _ He loved the way it went on forever, so far that the sky and water became blurred, the horizon an indistinct morass of blue.  _ Heavy, damp wind.  _ He missed the six of them sitting around the fire, waiting for the clams and fish to cook, the smiles and laughter.  _ In and out, the salty air. In and out. In… and out…  _

He jerked and opened his eyes, finding himself strangely unsteady. He felt unmoored, but instead of that familiar feeling of hopeless desperation, he felt certain. There was the heavy smell of ocean air in his nose and the sensation of being rocked by the waves, but it soon faded as he felt Veronica squeeze his hand. She was looking at him with what he could only assume to be pride. 

“I… I think I did it?” He couldn’t be sure, but it was simply too visceral to be his imagination. 

“You did it.” 

“I… I didn’t know that I–” he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He felt strange, but it felt  _ good _ . 

“It’s in their best interest if fewer people know. If you know that you have innate power, then you would never need their salvation,” she said. She took both of his hands in hers and met his eyes steadily. Her eyes reminded him of the pale, smooth pieces of green sea glass he and Felix used to collect on the beach. Why had it taken him so long to place the color of them? “You are  _ never _ truly helpless. If you remember nothing else, let it be that.”

She pulled away then, putting distance between them once more; but he knew that they would never quite go back to how things were. They couldn’t; she’d already crossed the gulf between them. No matter how she pushed, they would always be pulled back together.  _ In and out _ .

***

Castle Llwyd seemed somehow more ancient than his own, despite having been built in the same era. It used the same dark granite from the same quarry, its glass blown by the same artisans; history bled from it. Perhaps it was because it was not his, but standing there in its innermost bailey, he felt just what had ended that night. Many hundreds of years, many hundreds of dreams, many, many people; the girl next to him was all that was left of their legacy. Without her, one of Faerghus’ oldest Houses would be nothing more than ink dried on a page.

“You may all wait here; His Highness and I won’t be long,” she said, trailing her finger over a crack in one of the stones, “unless of course you’re afraid that I will kill him while we’re in there.” Her voice had lost the warmth it had possessed in the carriage, though how much of that was an act, he couldn’t say. 

“Hardly, My Lady. You’re unable to use magic and still frail from your ordeals; His Highness is armed and well trained. We are watching the exits and prepared to do what we must. You’re clever, My Lady; you’ll always do the sensible thing,” Gustave said. Veronica scoffed and shot him a disdainful look over her shoulder, a toothy sneer spreading over her face.

“Pray for your sake that you’re right, Sir Dominic,” she said. He sometimes wondered if she were  _ trying _ to goad them into killing her. “Come on then, Your Highness.”

He followed her up the stairs, through the ruins that had once been the foyer. He imagined that the door had once been the same heavy oak and cast iron affair he was used to, but all that remained of it were splinters and its hinges. Once inside, the full scope of the tragedy hit him. Everywhere he looked were shields, spears, and torn scraps of cloth. Rusty stains marred the floor, and the large circular chandelier that had lit the Great Hall lay in a broken heap on the floor. Veronica stepped over a broken shield, painted green, bearing the black bear’s paw.

High on the wall was a banner bearing the family’s heraldry. Per bend vert and argent, a sable bear in rampant, grasping a bundle of arrows in its paw. He had seen it many times, and had stood behind it that day. They had been few, but the shields of green had placed themselves between him and those responsible. It had been a scout of House Llwyd who had protected him and Dedue until help arrived; her longbow kept their enemies at bay. She had survived that battle, but had probably died here. Below the banner was a plaque bearing the family’s motto: Nid Ydym yn Anghofin. ‘We do not forget.’ It was at once appropriate, and ominous.

“There used to be a stained glass window there,” Veronica said, pointing to a large circular hole in the wall above the grand staircase, “if you stood in just the right place, it would line up perfectly with that portion of the night sky. I… don’t know if the exact alchemical recipe that made the stars twinkle the way they did survived the centuries.”

She moved forward, leaving him with her words as she put her hand on the dusty bannister, as though contemplating it. Dimitri moved to stand beside her, studying her face. She ignored him in favor of staring at the hole in the wall instead. She wore the same neutral expression she always did, but there was something in her that was coiled tight like an angry serpent.

“We can take our time if you need to,” he said. 

“Can you feel the magic in this place?” she asked, taking a step up. Her voice sounded loud in the silence, though she’d barely done more than murmur. 

“I…” he hadn’t been thinking about it, but once she called attention to it, he felt it everywhere. It smelled of loam and brought to mind the springy, mossy earth of the Witchwood. It felt like breathing. “Yes.”

“Good. The vault is downstairs; but there may be something useful left upstairs,” she said. Though she gave no indication, he was fairly sure it was merely an excuse. He had no doubt that scavengers had already picked the castle clean of things that were worth something.

“Sure, let’s go see,” he said. She nodded and began to take the stairs quickly, her strides long and purposeful. He kept pace with her easily, but something unspoken warned him not to get too close. 

The door leading up to the solar was left ajar, and the hallway was littered with scattered paper and toppled chairs. She paused outside a room containing an upended desk and a long cold fireplace. It seemed this room was the source of much of the paper.

“What room was this?” Dimitri asked. Veronica’s shoulders bunched briefly before she moved away from the battered door frame. 

“Mother’s study. There’s nothing in here that we need.” She made her way down the hallway, but he couldn’t quite pull himself away. He could almost envision this room as it had been. Lady Maeve sat behind the desk, her coppery hair streaming down her back as she wrote or read; a cup of tea steaming nearby, while an inviting fire flickered in the hearth behind her. It was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor that drew his attention away from the room before him and down the hall. Veronica lay crumpled on the floor, as though something had barreled right over her. He trotted towards her, dropping to his knees beside her.

“Goddess, are you hurt?” He asked, gently taking her by the shoulders. Touching her, he realized that she was shaking, and under her skin he could feel the ominous buzz of magic, as though she were doing everything within her power to hold it back; though he assumed it was Cornelia's protege, not her. 

“Oh gods, no, no,  _ no _ …” her voice was muffled against her arm, but the raw pain in it made his stomach twist. 

“Veronica, what’s wrong?” He rubbed carefully at her back, but chanced a look up and was met with the sight of a room so blackened with soot that he couldn’t even begin to guess what it had been. “What…?”

“I… I don’t know what I expected, but this…” she came up onto her knees, swiping her sleeve across her eyes, “this is  _ unforgivable _ .”

“What was here?” He asked. He felt stupid for asking, as though he should have been able to simply intuit it, but he just couldn’t. 

“Our library. This room once contained our copied manuscripts and  _ years _ of research and now it’s all gone. I will have to start all over!” 

“Surely other copies exist, we could–”

“Are you  **_daft?! This is all there was!_ ** Any other copies that ever existed have been long destroyed. You  _ know _ this! That cabal of  _ jackals _ at Garreg Mach have been trying to snuff us out for centuries.”

Frustrated tears streamed down her cheeks as she hauled herself to her feet, her shoulders heaved and her breathing came in harsh pants, as though she were struggling. He watched her for a moment before he rose to his feet as well, taking her hand on instinct. She turned to look at him, wheezing high in her throat. 

“Do the originals still exist?” He asked. He wanted so badly to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. How did one go about comforting someone who’s entire life was in tatters?

“They’re in the vault, but I don’t think you appreciate how long it will take to translate some of them. I will have years of work ahead of me before I can even begin to rebuild everything else.” She shrugged him off, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Let’s go, I feel as though I’m going to be sick.” 

She sounded exhausted, and far older than she had any right to. He hesitated only a moment before he followed after her, a thousand questions burning his mouth, but no heart to ask them. They made their way up a second flight of stairs and Veronica shoved the door at the top open a little more forcefully than was perhaps necessary. It smashed against the wall, sending a loud ‘bang’ echoing down the empty, dark hallway. Dimitri paused long enough to light the torch he carried. He fought down the shiver that shot through him as he gazed down the length of the corridor. Cobwebs drifted in the stagnant air and clothing was strewn out over the floor. Veronica paid no heed to the silken chemises and woolen coats, but there was a distinctly unsettled quality to her gait. It was the same as his was every time he passed by his parents’ chambers; quick and quiet, as though she feared she’d disturb them.

Their every step was muffled by the rugs and wooden panelling, but he could hear broken glass crunching beneath his boots. Paintings lined the walls, and he recognized them as the Matriarchs of House Llwyd. Some were unspeakably old, but the most recent ones drew his eye. Veronica watched as he studied the portrait of Lady Maeve and her family. Veronica was just a little thing, clutching Sebastian’s hand. On either side of them were their parents, each holding a baby. They had been a beautiful family.

“Do you miss them?” Dimitri asked. 

“What sort of question is that? What are you expecting me to say, Your Highness? Do I need to pound my fists and scream my grief to the heavens so that you will be satisfied? Is it not enough that we stand here in the ruins of my life?” She asked, backing herself up against the nearest wall. 

“No, you don’t need to do anything like that, unless it would make you feel better. You’re allowed to feel angry or sad, Veronica.” He wished someone had told  _ him _ that. They all just wanted him to be the same as he was before, instead of acknowledging that he  _ couldn’t _ . Veronica scoffed, but the sound was wet, as though she were choking back tears. 

“Ridiculous. That helps no one,” she said.

“It helps you.” 

“ **Stop.** ” Her shoulders were heaving again, her breath a pitiful wheeze in her throat. 

“Veronica, I–”

“ **_Stop it!_ ** Stop pretending like you  _ care _ !” Her voice rose in pitch, and that desperate look in her eyes was back. This sort of thing… it didn’t come from only a year or so of cruelty. This was something older and more ingrained into the very fabric of who she was. Something in his heart knew that it had begun here, in this house.

“I  _ do _ care. I… may not always be  _ good _ at it, but I care! You’re a human being, Veronica; you deserve that much.” 

He wasn’t prepared for the anguished sound that tore its way out of her, nor the violent burst of magic that followed. The pulse was strong enough to slam open doors and send things clattering from the walls, leaving the smell of ozone and wet flowers behind; and there, in her veins was a soft, blue light, pulsing in that same erratic pattern he’d recognized earlier that day. She shook and heaved there on the spot, as though choking on the air itself. In the near silence that followed, there was a soft, tinkling noise, like music. Veronica staggered away from the room nearest to her, her hand clamping over her mouth as another pained sound clawed its way up her throat. Dimitri uprooted himself from the spot and entered the room. 

An end table had been toppled over in the wake of her outburst, scattering the few items that had been on it to the floor. A vase of dessicated flowers lay tipped over on its side, and in the flickering light of the torch, he found the source of the sound. He picked the music box up and examined it, mindful of any baubles that might have fallen out. It was simple, but well crafted in a dark, rich wood; inlaid with silver and mother of pearl vines. He didn’t recognize the song, but it was beautiful. All he found on the floor was a simple brooch of silver and some sort of black, shiny stone, which he placed inside the box, and carefully shut the lid. Veronica’s sniffling was quiet, as though she were trying to hide the fact that she were crying at all. 

She rocked slightly back and forth as he returned to her. He placed the torch in a nearby sconce and eased himself down onto the floor. She was curled so tightly in on herself that he had to wonder if she were in physical pain as well as emotional anguish. He carefully placed the box on the floor between them and waited for her.

“Why?” she asked, her voice gruff and watery from her crying. Her breath came in pitiful little hiccups, but she still seemed to be choking back the worst of it.

“Why what?” he kept his voice gentle, like his mother’s had been whenever she soothed him. 

“Why is it that they died and I am still here? Why did the little ones, the ones who did nothing wrong have to die so terribly and yet  _ I  _ survive? Why did Bastian choose me instead of  _ her _ , me instead of himself? Why am I so useless and impotent that I cannot even bring them  _ home _ ?” she was sobbing again, her words garbled by pain and heavy with guilt, the heels of her hands pressing hard against her eyes as her shoulders heaved; another anguished cry making its way past her lips. Dimitri found himself pulling her towards him, tucking her beneath his chin as she cried; she put up a little resistance, but collapsed against him as a fresh round of sobs hit her.

“I can’t answer any of those questions, I’m sorry; but… I hope that you know that I  _ understand _ them.” His own tears were hot in the cool hallway, and every gulp of the stale air seemed to make the next harder to take. 

He understood her,  _ oh  _ how he did; he had sobbed questions not unlike those into Rodrigue's lap only days after  _ it _ had happened. Veronica at last wrapped her arms around his middle and tucked her face against him, breathing deeply and more slowly. He calmed as she did, and soon their breathing rose and fell in tandem, and they sat there in silence for a long moment. Dimitri pressed his lips to the crown of her head and found himself pleasantly surprised at the softness of her hair. Eventually, she pulled back and met his gaze, her face puffy and red from her crying. He doubted he looked much better.

“I’m sorry… you were never meant to see this,” she said. She was tired, anyone could see that. His own lethargy settled over him like a fog and hung there. He would be very surprised if they did anything useful after this.

“Don’t apologize for this. You’re entitled to it.” He used his thumbs to wipe away her tears, but she soon pulled away, pulling her coat more tightly around herself.

“...thank you. Did I… hurt you?” she asked. 

“No. You didn’t hurt me, I was only surprised.” He picked up the box once more, holding it up so that she could see it. “Was it yours?” he asked.

“Yes. It was a birthday gift from Father, years ago.” She flipped the lid open and inspected the brooch in the torchlight, swiping away tears as the song once again filled the space. “This belonged to my Grandmother. It’s actually a scrying mirror; look,” she cupped it in her hands and he leaned down to look at it. Its glossy, flat surface reminded him of a moonless night. “Turns out there was something useful up here after all,” she said. She returned it to the box and closed the lid, running her hands over her face. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. She huffed and struggled to her feet, taking the box from him as she did so. 

“I don’t know. Probably. There’s not much other choice,” she said. “I… want to check one more place before we go. Will you… come with me?” 

“Of course. I’ll not make you do this alone.” He followed her up one final set of stairs and soon they found themselves in a round room, encased in glass. An observatory, he realized. Veronica began to root through the drawers, and after a few moments of searching, produced a fine brass spyglass. 

“It was Father’s. It’ll… be useful later, I think.” 

“You don’t need to justify wanting mementos,” he said. She shot him a withering look, but it was hard to take her seriously when she’d been sobbing in his arms only minutes earlier. How could he ever be afraid of her after that?

“It will be safer if you hold onto it, I think. A brooch is an easy thing to lie about, but a spyglass has…  _ implications _ Sir Dominic might not be willing to overlook.” 

He took it from her carefully, inspecting it before he slipped it into the pocket of his coat. Veronica lingered by the desk for a long moment before she moved to look outside. Dimitri joined her and was struck by just how beautiful the view was. They could look down on the tumultuous Lake Teutates, her dark and glassy surface churning and bubbling far below them, like the sea in miniature. 

“Father used to spend hours up here. On clear days it all seems to go on forever. The lake is even more incredible up close; we lose fishing boats on it more often than I’d like when the winter gales come,” she said. She allowed her forehead to rest against the glass, sighing unsteadily. “I’m surprised so little has been taken from here; only the telescope. I suppose they didn’t see the value in much else.”

“Your father had interest in astronomy?” Dimitri asked. Veronica smiled sadly as she returned her gaze to his face, the expression at once lovely and devastating. 

“Father loved the stars. He would let me sit with him some nights, and he would tell me their names and stories. On clear nights, when the air was warm and his voice was soft, you could almost imagine that you could touch them.” She took a shuddering breath and looked up at the sky, as though quietly contemplating it. “The sky has never seemed further away.”

His heart ached at the longing in her voice. He could almost imagine the scene: Lord Lucien holding a younger, happier Veronica close, pointing out stars in the velvet sky, his voice low as he told her stories she’d heard already. He smelled of tobacco, ink, and…

He jerked as he felt something dab at his cheek. Veronica looked chagrined, as though he’d caught her doing something improper, her handkerchief clutched in her hand and damp on one corner. “You were crying,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping the little traitors away with his sleeve. She shook her head and stepped away from the window, picking her way around the desk, as though to keep distance between them.

“No… I… I  _ understand _ .”

“Yes… I suppose that you do, don’t you?” 

He followed her out of the room, looking over his shoulder only once as he got the sense that someone was watching him. There was no one there, only a strange murmur in the back of his mind. He shook his head and lengthened his stride to catch up with Veronica at the bottom of the stairs. He was already beset by ghosts, what was one more?

***

“You’ll need to find the door now,” she said, taking the torch from him. He chewed his lip nervously, but nodded. His attention was pulled in so many different directions, as though the magic coursing through the stones was actively trying to confuse him, but he reached out and placed his hand against the wall and forced himself to think only about finding the vault. 

A particular stream caught his attention, it hummed in his ears and tingled over his skin. It felt strange compared to the rest; and so very old. There was no other way to describe it. He followed it, and the more he focused on it, the easier it became to tune out all else. He stopped before an irregularly shaped stone and as he placed his hand on it, he knew immediately that he was correct. He looked to Veronica for direction, and she mimed a knocking motion. He did as she suggested and jumped back as the stones began to grind and rumble, rearranging themselves into an archway. 

“This is… incredible. I… I didn’t know something like this was possible,” he said. She hummed in response, leading him further down the hallway. 

“The key is near here. It should be easy for you to find; just do as you did for the door,” she instructed. The key was behind a hanging tapestry, inside a narrow slot in the wall. 

“I suppose this is why the vault remains untouched?” Dimitri asked. 

“It was designed specifically to keep all but those who know how to find it out. You could tear down the wall and never find the door. It exists on what is known as a demiplane. It occupies a space between the material and ethereal planes, and moves a little every time you wish to enter. The only way to find it is to either divine its location, or–if you are able–trace its echo, as you did.” She took the key from him and slid it into the lock, pushing the door slightly ajar. She turned to him then, her expression serious. “There are some very odd things inside. I’m not averse to talking about them, but be cautious.”

“You needn’t worry. I’ve no intention of touching anything. I’m more likely to break something irreplaceable than be injured myself,” he said. That was always the way of it. He broke things far more often than he’d like to admit, and it hadn’t improved much since childhood. 

He followed close behind her, allowing his gaze to wander over the many artifacts and dusty scrolls; but Veronica seemed wholly unconcerned. An object in a glass case caught his eye and he found himself peering into the empty eye sockets of a skull. 

“Who’s skull is this?” he asked. Veronica followed his gaze, an amused smile creeping its way over her face. 

“Kyphon’s.” 

“Why does your family have Kyphon’s skull?” he asked. 

“Well, you should probably ask Duke Fraldarius what became of Siobhan II’s body. It was never returned to us after she fell at Gronder. All they returned was that,” she said, pointing to a beautiful set of silver armor. Its emerald green cloak and black bear pelt mantle still looked newly made, if a little stained in places.

“ _ That’s _ Siobhan II’s armor? Goddess it’s got to be–”

“It’s 430 years old. It only looks so pristine because we took great pains to preserve it, but it’s little more than a gallery piece. I’d never consider taking it out of here.”

“It’s beautiful. Look at the engravings… the craftsman who made it was an artist,” he said. 

“We would have happily traded it for her. No matter how we bargained or how lowly we bowed, House Fraldarius refused us. So… when Kyphon died, we took his head. So, if they want it back, there’s a body they need to find.”

Dimitri laughed at that. It was absurd to think that two of the oldest families in the country–in all of Fódlan, even–were playing keep away with 400-something year old bones. He sobered after a moment, remembering that such a thing was possibly a raw wound for her. It was, perhaps, a little too close to home.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“Why? It’s funny. I never knew her, so I feel no pain at her absence. She may as well be an heirloom sugar bowl they borrowed and never returned for all the difference it makes to me. Certainly I’d  _ like _ to have her back, but it will do me no great service.”

Veronica shrugged and moved away to rummage through an old cabinet. Contained within, were what seemed to be books and scrolls. Dimitri found himself looking around the room, feeling awed by the history surrounding him. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but it felt wrong to impose on her any further, when it was  _ his _ kin that had hurt her so. 

“What would the manuscripts you mentioned look like?” He asked. 

“Hm? Oh, they’re in those cabinets over there. They're locked, of course. They can’t really leave this room, the light and air would damage many of them. I’ll need to make new copies so that I can rebuild, but… they’ll be safe in there for now.”

“I’m glad… perhaps… you’d teach me to read it? I’d like to help you.” 

She straightened from her searching, a thick blue tome and a small velvet pouch in her hands as she turned to face him. She was quiet as she thumbed through the book, her pale eyes flickering over the pages. She nodded and tucked it under her arm before finally meeting his gaze. 

“If you wish to learn, I’ll teach you.”

“Truly?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. He’d expected her to be angry and protective of her heritage. 

“Why are you so surprised? Knowledge exists to be shared, and I imagine you may have need of it one day; many an old treatise is written in it, after all.” She shrugged and passed him the book. It was heavy for its size, its cover worn smooth from years of use. There was no title or anything that would indicate what was in it, but if she was taking it, then there was only one thing it could be. 

“I… suppose I just worried that maybe you’d think it crass of me to ask. It’s important to you, and my family destroyed much of it. It feels wrong to ask to be a part of it,” he said. Veronica chuffed softly, crossing her arms over her chest as she came to stand toe to toe with him so that he had nowhere to look but at her.

“It is as much a part of  _ you _ as it is of me. Thinking of it as something separate from yourself will do you little good, Dimitri. You are entitled to your own history and culture, you are no interloper here,” she said. He was struck by the sound of his name. He couldn’t remember a single time that she’d used it before then. “It’s not a dead thing that we were clinging to, you know? Faerghus is a stubborn nation full of stubborn, prideful people. The old tongue is still spoken in many remote areas, the old gods still revered, the old magic still well understood.  _ We _ were simply the only noble House that still valued it, that is all.”

He could think of nothing to say. How did one respond to something like that, when rejection had seemed far more likely? How was it that she had managed to accept him into something she cared so much about, when the people closest to him couldn’t even accept him for who he was?  _ Be more assertive, don’t be such a girl, men don’t cry. _ He’d heard it all, and then some. She had every right to hate him, and yet… he did not even see disdain in her eyes anymore. There was only acceptance. 

He watched as she made her way over to a weapon rack along the far wall. There were many things there: staves, lances, swords. Some looked exceedingly plain, and others were clearly only meant for ceremony, but the one she plucked from the rack was beautiful. It was longer and thinner than he’d expected. Its hilt was wrapped in fine black leather, and all its fittings were polished to a high silvery sheen. Its pommel was simple, and crowned with a single green stone that flashed a star shape when light hit it just right. It was kept in a simple black leather scabbard, embossed with a series of sigils. She held it out to him, without any hesitation. 

“I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dimitri. Take care that I don’t regret it.”

“I shall do my utmost,” he said. She watched him as he buckled her family’s relic just above his own sword, a strange glint in her eye. 

“We’ll see. Come; we’ve spent far more time in here than we were meant to. No doubt they’re beginning to grow restless.”

He followed her back through the rows of shelves and glass cases, and pulled the door closed behind him. The strange pale light that had lit their way while they were inside disappeared, leaving them once more in the dull, flickering light of the torch. The stones rearranged themselves, leaving no sign that there had ever been a door in the first place. Veronica replaced the key, and it too vanished without a trace. There was something unsettling about it, as though reality itself was merely an illusion. 

He shot a nervous glance behind him as he once again felt a presence there with him. It left him feeling anxious and uncertain, so he stepped closer to Veronica. If she was bothered by his nearness, she didn’t mention it. He wanted to sprint up the stairs and out the door, but instead he kept pace with her, even as he felt something creeping closer, just on the edge of his perception. He clenched his fist and relaxed it, trying to give himself something else to think about instead of the ghosts that dogged his steps.

**_Look at me, Dima_ ** .

He ignored his Father’s command. He knew what he would see. He knew they were there, stalking just out of sight; their hands clawing at him, their eyes milky and mouths open. Sweat beaded on his brow, his heart pounded and stuttered. Was that him breathing, or one of the dead? 

**_Dima? Dima won’t you look at me?_ **

_ Not now, Mother. Please not now. _

As they neared the top of the stairs, he saw movement from the corner of his eye and in the flickering of the torchlight he saw the terrible face of Lady Maeve as she strangled. Her face turned purple, her nose bled, her eyes bulged. She didn’t linger before him, but it was enough to startle him. He took a quick step back and slipped, yelping as he fell backwards. He felt Veronica’s hand close around his wrist, but he couldn’t look at her; instead he stared at all of them as they gazed coldly back. Veronica heaved him upright with a grunt, and it was only when she took his face between her palms and forced him to look at her that he did. She too was ghostly pale, but she was solid and real there in front of him. 

“What was that about?” she asked. 

“I… I’m sorry, I just… I thought I saw–” he heaved a breath, his stomach lurching as he smelled blood and earth, “can we go? Please?” he pleaded. She nodded and led him up the last few stairs, still holding his wrist. 

He breathed slowly, counting their footsteps as they emerged from the dark, cavernous basement. She led him through the kitchen and up, back into the Great Hall. Pale light streamed in through the missing window and the smell that had sickened him was replaced by the pleasant smell of the outdoors. It was far colder, and that helped, too. She waited for him to decide whether or not he wanted to linger, but he forged on ahead. She followed close behind him and he took comfort in the fact that she was there between him and them. 

“I’m sorry. I… sometimes I  _ see _ things and it frightens me. Are you hurt?” She’d caught him one handed, her other hand desperately clutching the handrail, leaning backwards to act as a counterweight. She was stronger than she looked, or perhaps it had simply been the stress of the moment. She had looked truly horrified in the brief moments before she’d schooled her features. 

“I’m fine. You don’t need to apologize. I’m… just glad I caught you. Even you probably wouldn’t survive a fall like that.”

_ That was probably the point _ .

“I thank you, truly… but would you mind keeping it between us? I don’t want the others to worry,” he said.

“...very well.” She didn’t sound pleased with the idea, as though she thought he ought to tell someone; but what was there to tell? _I see ghosts?_ _I hear voices? They beg for salvation and revenge?_ Even the most accepting among them would think him a lunatic, and he would be lucky if that was where it ended. He didn’t need to give his uncle any more leverage. 

***

Veronica frowned at herself in the mirror, taking in her reflection with a growing sense of unease. They’d dressed her in the blue of House Blaiddyd, without a stitch of green. The weight of her sword was comforting, though it would be short lived. She looked every bit like a member of House Blaiddyd, she supposed, and it didn’t sit well with her.

“Lady Llwyd?” she turned at the sound of Dedue’s voice, settling slightly as he smiled. There was something earnest and comforting in his expression that made it all more bearable. It was a shame he’d not been able to accompany them. Perhaps she would not have made such a fool of herself. 

“Is it time already?” she asked. He nodded and opened the door for her, leading her down the long corridor where Dimitri, The Pig, and the court waited to see her debase herself. “How many people are there?”

“More than anticipated.  _ His Majesty _ opened it to the public,” he said.

“ _ Why?!” _

“Presumably so that news of it will spread more easily.”

Everything that man did had an angle; they were alike in that way. He was anticipating that she would swear herself into his service, and had brought in the public to ensure that she behaved. He would be very, very angry when he didn’t get it, no doubt. She could only hope that he was feeling generous.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court, today I introduce Lady Veronica Ceridwen Llwyd, daughter of the Countess Maeve Eirlys Llwyd; Lady of Teutates and Branston, and Earl Lucien von Vestra,” the steward droned. 

Veronica ignored him and kept her gaze forward. The Pig stood at the top of the dias, dressed finely, as a King might be, while Dimitri was dressed more modestly; more  _ appropriately _ for the hour and occasion. She bowed low when she reached them, only barely resisting the urge to swat her hair away as it fell over her shoulder and brushed against her cheek. The low, loose style was flattering, but hardly functional. 

“Good day, Lady Llwyd. What brings you before the Court?” The Pig asked. 

“I come to swear my fealty to House Blaiddyd, Your Majesty,” she said.

“Is that so? Your family isn’t well known for its loyalty to the Crown, Lady Llwyd,” he drawled. Veronica bit the inside of her cheek as the Lords and Ladies tittered.  _ Pathetic. _

“Times change, Your Majesty.”

“That they do, and the clever survive. Very well, My Lady; you may kneel.”

She straightened and turned to face Dimitri instead, drawing her blade as she did so; its innate magic attempting to draw out her own, even as it was stifled by the wards the Court Sorceress had put in place. It sent a pleasant tingle up her arm and hummed softly in the quiet room. She had no doubt Dimitri could hear it sing, though the rest of them were likely deaf to it. She sank to her knees and allowed the blade to rest in her upturned hands, and lowered her head.

“Your Highness, in the name of House Llwyd, I offer you my service. Your cause is my cause; your enemies, my enemies. With this blade I swear to do only that which is righteous, and until my final breath, I shall protect you. So do I swear, before all in attendance, that my blade is yours, until such time that you see fit to put it down.”

“You humble me greatly, Lady Llwyd; I am honored to accept you,” he said, placing his hands over hers, the blade between them. It hummed and sang more loudly, reacting to his touch, just as it had her own, “please, rise and join me.”

***

She gasped as her arm was twisted harshly behind her back, her body trapped between the wall and an unyielding figure behind her. 

“That was a clever trick, Little Bird,” the Pig said. His breath swept over her ear as his free hand came up to wrap around her neck, “did you forget what I said?”

“Of course not, Your Majesty; but you also asked me to keep an eye on His Highness. I cannot do that if he holds me at a distance. The easiest back to stab is the one that is turned willingly towards you, after all,” she said.

“Hmm, a fair point,” he released her arm, but didn’t step away. She remained trapped against him, and squirmed slightly as the heat of his skin sank into her.

_ Disgusting. _

“Fine. I’ll accept that for now, but don’t forget that I’m watching you, dear; even when I’m not here, I will see you.  _ I _ am not foolish enough to take a Llwyd at their word.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and strode away as though nothing had happened. 

He left her standing there alone, almost as quickly as he’d come upon her, and she felt filthy in his wake. She wrinkled her nose and shoved her hands into her pockets, glad yet again that she always wore gloves. She could not be rid of him soon enough.


	8. The Language of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored and lonely, Dimitri goes to Veronica for company. They end up sneaking out together for a short, but much needed adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this posted Friday, but I ended up getting busy and not being able to. Oh well, at least it's up now. 
> 
> I worried that I was letting them get too friendly too fast, but then I remembered that they're both traumatized teenagers who desperately need friends, so I think it's fine.

He was bored. He was so devastatingly bored, and yet, nothing sounded appealing. The idea of training or even going for a ride made him want to groan in frustration, and the beautiful blue sky above set his teeth on edge. It was the first lovely day in almost a week, and he was wasting it by staring out the window. He huffed and blew his bangs out of his face, wondering what he would do. 

He stood and paced back and forth, his mind flitting from activity to activity like an anxious bird. Nothing sparked his interest. Dedue was busy with Gustave and couldn’t help, but… Veronica was perhaps willing to give him some company. Company would at least make his boredom more interesting. He squared his shoulders and nodded to himself, striding down the hall towards her room with confidence. He no longer feared her. He knew now that her snappishness was born of shyness, rather than cruelty. 

He would go so far as to tentatively call her a friend now. It was hard not to when she’d cried so earnestly in his arms, and saved his life twice. He had the feeling she felt the same, though he doubted very much that she would admit it in so many words. She was stubborn, but he was starting to like that about her. He smiled and raised his fist to knock on her door, listening to the sound of her shuffling towards it to answer. She looked at him without surprise, though her face wasn’t quite the expressionless mask he’d gotten used to. 

“Need something?” she asked.

“May I come in?” 

She hesitated a moment, but stepped aside. The room was tidy, but bore little reminders of its occupant, such as a coat slung across the back of her chair, and the stuffed bear he’d gotten her sitting primly on her nightstand. It looked a little loved, its ribbon drooping slightly, as though she held it as she slept. He didn’t hide the smile that came to his face when he imagined it. She looked between him and it, and though her expression didn’t change, he could see a little color rising in her cheeks. 

“What is it that you wanted?” she asked, trying to distract him now. He watched as she eased herself down into the bed, and took up her knitting. 

“I was simply bored. Would you mind some company?” he asked. 

“Why come to  _ me _ for company?” 

“Why not you? Could it not be that I enjoy being around you?” he asked. 

“I doubt that very much, but if you’re so bored that you wish to watch me knit, then you may stay.”

She curled in on herself as if to hide her flushing cheeks, but her ears betrayed her. He settled into the chair nearby and resumed looking out the window. It was exceedingly warm in her room, though narrowly managed to avoid stuffiness. Despite doing the exact same thing he’d been doing previously, the change in venue and the company made it more tolerable. He sagged in the chair and watched as she worked, her deft fingers working to create what seemed to be a hat out of dark emerald yarn.

“Who’s the hat for?” he asked. 

"One of the stableboys. I noticed the other day that he didn’t have one, and it’s far too cold for him to be so unprepared. It’s absolutely unacceptable that the staff here would allow such a thing to go on; but if no one else will, I will handle it.”

“I had wondered about that… you’ve been keeping yourself rather busy,” he said. 

“I am a servant of your House now, it’s only proper that I put my knowledge to use.”

“Do you know much about the running of an estate?” he asked. He knew precious little, only what he’d seen his stepmother do in the rare times that he needed to bother her during the day. 

“I know everything there is to know about it, I began my training before I could even write my name. I can cook, clean, and mend just about anything, and I know well how to coordinate the staff as any noblewoman should. My mother ensured that I was well prepared to be both Matriarch and wife,” she said. 

It struck him then how differently their culture treated men and women. Men were expected to be great warriors--brave Knights, prepared and able to fight and die for King and Country--but women were to be wives and mothers, even the matriarchal Llwyd family, it seemed. Neither seemed particularly pleasing, if he were to be honest. He neither relished the idea of anyone ever dying for him again, nor the idea of a woman only living to bear his children. 

“When did you have free time? Surely you didn’t spend all your days training.”

“I would have a few hours to myself in the evenings, though truth be told I was often too tired to do anything save sew or read. Mother kept me very busy. My days started early and ended quite late,” she said. She looked up at him, a wry twist to her lips. “This is the most free time I’ve ever had.”

“Then I’m glad you’re here. It sounds as if your mother ran you ragged,” he said. A strange look passed over her face then, somewhere between sadness and anger.

“Mother did what she had to. Though there were times I wished she would be more gentle, I am grateful to her. I believe if she’d been more nurturing, I may have perished,” she said. Sensing an opportunity, Dimitri straightened in his seat.

“I’d been curious about the time you’d spent missing… where were you?” he asked. Her lips drew down at the corners, her expression somewhat troubled as she mulled it over. 

“Truth be told, I’m not sure. I don’t believe I was in Faerghus, but I spent most of that time in the dark. They… wanted something from us, but I don’t know what exactly. It had something to do with our Crests… they… did things to us; but I was always unconscious for most of it. I’d wake up with new incisions, new pains… eventually it all blurred together.”

He was surprised she was being so candid. He wasn’t sure he could tell her about his experience in Duscur that day. Perhaps she too kept the most painful parts for herself. He rose and came to sit on the floor beside her, touching her arm with his fingertips. She looked down at him with surprise, as though she hadn’t noticed him move. She shifted under his hand, as though she were contemplating moving away, but seemed to think better of it.

“Are you always so warm?” she asked.

“Am I warm?”

“Very. I… am surprised to find that I don’t mind it. I’m not overfond of being touched, usually.” 

She resumed her work and didn’t fuss when he lay his head on the edge of her bed, listening to the clicking of her needles. He wasn’t sleepy until he’d come in here, but he felt as if he could sleep the day away there beside her. Her calm, sure movements and companionable silence was soothing, but he shook the cloak of sleep off. He still wanted to enjoy the day while they had it.

“Would you perhaps consider joining me for a little outing?” he asked.

“To where? They’re not going to let us just walk off the grounds, especially unsupervised. They still believe I’m going to run or hurt you, and even if that weren’t the case, they’d still find our being alone together very inappropriate.”

She wasn’t wrong, of course. What they were doing right that moment would be considered scandalous if anyone found out about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered with what the nobility would think. They didn’t grant him company and comfort in the way Dedue and Veronica did. He would put up with the whispers for that alone. 

“That’s not a no…” he prompted. 

“Are you suggesting that we sneak away together? That’s rather bold of you, Your Highness.” 

“I am asking my vassal if she would escort me into town, how is that bold?” he asked. She hummed in amusement and put her knitting down in her lap, meeting his eyes for the first time in a while. 

He took that time to study her face. She’d put on considerable weight since she’d come to them, thought she still held the von Vestra gauntness about her cheeks. She was far more pleasant to look at now that she was no longer half dead from hunger. 

“Allow me to finish this hat, and we can go,” she said. He nodded and settled back down, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of wisteria, rain, and tart berries. 

***

She was bundled up well, in her fox fur hat and blue wool gown. They walked down the cobbled path together, wary of ice on the stones. Snow blanketed the yard on either side; it was too deep now for she and Dedue to tend to the plants, they’d been covered over for the winter. The only flowers she could tend were the ones in the greenhouse. She clutched his arm as she slipped a little on the cobbles, and he steadied her. 

The stable came into view and with it the workers milling about it. The boy in question was easy to spot. He wore no hat and his mousy curls bounced whenever he walked. He was a fresh faced, pleasant looking boy, but the state of his clothes left much to be desired. Dimitri met Veronica’s eyes and could see the word  _ unacceptable _ in the set of her mouth. He had no idea that anyone in his House’s employ was in such dire straits. 

“Good day Your Highness, Lady Llwyd. Can I be of assistance?” he asked. Veronica withdrew the fine hat from within her satchel and held it out to him, her face going from neutral to a warm, almost motherly smile. The effect it had on her face was striking. 

“No, no. We’ve no need of anything, we only wished to give you this,” she said. The boy took it, running careful fingers over the densely knitted wool.

“Are you certain, Milady? This is a fine hat,” the boy said. Veronica laughed lightly, before curling the boy’s fingers around it.

“I’m certain. Please, put it on, it’s very cold out today.” 

The boy did as she asked, brown ringlets sticking out from under the cap at odd angles. Dimitri smiled at him and once again took Veronica’s arm, covering her hand to guard it against the wind. 

“Is it warm enough?” he asked. 

“Y-yes, Your Highness, thank you very much,” the boy said, bowing quickly. 

“You needn’t thank me, Lady Llwyd is the one who knitted it. Direct all your thanks to her, lad.”

The boy looked at her with a mix of awe and open affection. Dimitri had to cover his chuckle with a little cough as he realized that he’d inadvertently given her an admirer. 

_ You’re a bit young for her, lad. _

“T-thank you, Milady! I’ll cherish it, I will. How can I ever repay you?” 

Veronica jolted as the boy took her by the hand and placed a kiss upon her gloved knuckles and Dimitri remembered that she’d said she wasn’t fond of being touched. If she minded the boy’s, she made no mention of it, though she looked a touch chagrined. 

“Now, now. There’s no need to make a scene. You needn’t cherish it, but please wear it. It’s far too cold out for you to go about without,” she said. She tucked her hand away into her coat, likely to protect herself from any more affection. 

“Yes of course, Milady. Do tell me if there’s ever anything you need,” he said. 

“I’ll keep it in mind, lad. Thank you. Now we must be off, please excuse us. Your Highness?” she indicated the path back with her hand and he led them away, chortling quietly once they were out of earshot. 

“I dare say that young boy is infatuated with you, Veronica,” he said. She hissed and pinched the back of his arm, not unlike his nursemaid used to do. 

“Hush, don’t tease.”

“Ouch! You don’t need to hurt me, I get your point!” 

She settled beside him, smiling mildly. He felt her rubbing at the back of his arm, as if to soothe him in the wake of her punishment. He couldn’t help but appreciate this newfound gentleness. Was this how she treated her siblings? Or was he perhaps a special case? There was a part of him that wanted to ask, but he feared that doing so would touch on something painful. 

“Are all large Houses so shoddily run? My mother would never have allowed someone in our employ to go about so ill prepared.”

“I can’t speak for every House, but I do know that this is a recent development. Stepmother would never have allowed this either… this steward is a new addition, he was sent here with me when Uncle insisted I stay here. I know Lady Rowena of House Fraldarius would have a fit if she saw that boy.”

"Ah yes, the Duke’s Mistress. Mother spoke highly of her.”

“I’m… surprised that she knew about that. They don’t exactly flaunt their relationship,” Dimitri said. Veronica scoffed and rolled her eyes good naturedly, a small smile spreading across her lips.

“It’s an open secret. They may not flaunt it, but they didn’t do a good job of hiding it either. Every Lady in Faerghus and many outside of it no doubt know,” she said. 

“Is gossip all noblewomen do?” Dimitri scoffed. Veronica hummed and tucked her face into the collar of her coat.

“It’s not really gossip if it’s true, now is it? But, you’ll find that much of what I have to go on will be gossip. Gossip among servants, rumors on the streets, whispers behind the fans of other noble Ladies. Gossip is a very useful thing.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way, but he supposed she was right. Learning to listen to what people were saying and sorting the truth from the lies was a big part of what her family had done for many years. That she would value such things ought not surprise him.

“I see your point. What is the opinion on such matters?” he asked. He didn’t really care what people thought of Rodrigue and Rowena, but he would learn to listen if it would prove helpful. 

“The usual. They think it’s inappropriate to carry on without being married, though I see no problem with it myself. Love and marriage have little to do with each other, especially among you Seirosian types. It’s all about money and land, and Crests. I personally would rather be an old maid knitting for orphans than have any part in it.”

“That can be arranged.”

She laughed lightly and once again tucked her face into the collar of her coat against the wind. Dimitri stepped a fraction closer, lending her his body as a shield, though she was so tall it barely seemed to help. 

“Come, let’s be on our way before anyone can notice and stop us.”

“Lead the way, then. No doubt we’ll be in for it when we get back.”

He grinned and together they set off on their little unsupervised adventure.

***

“Where are we going?” she asked, watching as the high roofed, white timbered houses of old money became glass fronted shops and the ostentatious homes of the nouveau riche. 

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” he said, guiding them down another side street. Veronica pursed her lips and held fast to his arm, watching as children played in the snow. She’d never gotten to do such things as a girl, and was far too old to do so now, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to take a fistful of snow and shove it down the back of the Prince’s jacket. Would he yelp and squirm, or would he get angry? Fearing his anger, she shoved the desire away and instead chose to adjust her arm in his, preferring him soft and quiet.

“I’ve wanted to bring Dedue here, but I haven’t gotten the chance. He’s always so busy these days.”

“Is this…?”

“Faerghus’ most well curated botanical garden, yes. I thought perhaps you would like it,” he said. Veronica fought against the touched smile that broke across her face, and lost to it. She clasped him by the hand and beamed, tugging him towards the entrance.

“I… I thank you for thinking of me. Come, let’s enjoy ourselves before it gets too dark.”

***

Dimitri allowed her to pull him along by the hand and listened carefully as she talked at length about every plant that caught her eye. Most were dormant under the snow, but the greenhouse was still in full operation, and she was most enthusiastic about the flowers. He learned that lilies were poisonous to cats, that both red roses and red tulips were declarations of love, and that she hated the smell of lavender. 

He bought them each a cup of hot apple cider, and Veronica turned the cup around and around in her hands, as though thinking deeply. She looked at him then, a strange sort of contemplativeness in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” she asked. Dimitri thought about it a moment. He’d never really considered that he was particularly kind to her. He simply treated her the way he treated everyone...didn’t he?

“Why shouldn’t I be nice to you? You’ve suffered much… you know pain as I do. You are human as I am.”

“That isn’t what I’m asking. Why are we here? Why did you want to bring me here, despite knowing that we could get in trouble? Why go through all this?” she asked. 

“Because I wanted to. Is that not a good enough reason?”

They paused in their circuit around the garden, facing one another. Veronica scrutinized him closely, frowning as she did. At length she shook her head and stepped a fraction closer, her expression openly curious.

“That hardly answers my question, Dimitri.  _ Why _ ? I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

"You don’t have to  _ deserve _ it. I brought you here because I wanted to. I wanted to see you smile and relax a little. I wanted you to be happy, even if it were just for a little while. Is that wrong?” he asked. Why did it matter so much? Did her family truly never give her things because they wanted to?

“You’re… you’re  _ infuriating _ . You say the most ridiculous things, and–oh!” 

She pushed past him and he turned on the spot to see her trot towards a large golden leafed oak. He snorted in amusement and followed after her, coming to stand just behind her. She turned to him, her eyes full of wonder and true, unbridled joy. 

“This tree must be a cutting from one in Coedwig Bywyd! I had no idea that they would think to do such a thing… don’t you feel it? Try! Try to sense the mother tree through it.”

Dimitri looked at the swaying branches and pale bark before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He could envision it—all rough bark and ancient, gnarled roots—somewhere deep in the forest. Deeper than he had been. Deeper than perhaps any had been in a very long time. That someone had taken a piece of that place and put it right in the middle of town seemed bizarre. Coedwig Bywyd belonged to no one but the gods, but there it was. 

“Can you tell me something?” he asked, opening his eyes. 

"Hmmm?”

“What’s the difference between the magic you do, and the magic they teach at the Academy?”  _ That they tried and failed to teach me. _

“Let’s sit, this will take a moment to explain,” she said. 

She eased herself down onto a nearby bench and placed her cup down on the cobblestones at her feet. He followed suit and allowed her to take his hands in hers. She held them firmly, so that they formed a cup and he found himself staring at his own gloved palms. 

“The difference is perspective. They are taught to see magic as a thing to be controlled and memorized. I was taught to see it as something that simply is. That is—ultimately—the only fundamental difference. It’s a small thing, but it makes a big difference in the way I interact with it. They have knowledge, but it’s been pruned down only that which is deemed useful and appropriate. Because of that, everyone's the same. Deviations are punished or rejected. If you cannot lob a fireball at a target by the time you’re six, you have no talent for magic,” she huffed and took a deep breath. 

“I… I don’t understand… why can I manage anything at all your way, but not so much as a wisp when I try things theirs?”

“I can’t answer that for you, but if I had to guess it’s because of your own perspective. My way makes more sense to you because of that,” she shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Close your eyes.”

He did as she told him, finding the free flow of magic around him easily now that it wasn’t being stifled by court mages, fearful of the witch in their midst. Away from them, Veronica was vibrant and tumultuous, her magic heaving and licking at his fingertips like a hungry hound. 

“What am I doing?” he asked.

“I want you to imagine a light in your palm. Like the flame on the end of a candle. Do you see it?” 

“Yes…” he could envision it easily, warm and flickering. He could feel the warmth of it in his hand, and crawling up his arms. He wanted that light to be there, warming him on his darkest nights.

“Open your eyes.”

He stared at the tiny, flickering flame in his palm. It was weak, and dying quickly, but it was  _ there _ . He could feel the warmth of it, and smell the faint scent of woodsmoke coming off it. He looked at Veronica in surprise, and she looked back at him, satisfied. She squeezed his hands and leaned forward, her gaze serious. 

“Just because you aren’t ready for what they deem ‘simple’ doesn’t mean you’re useless. You could be a great illusionist or create the strongest shields known to man, and they’d never know because they are only concerned with what they think you  _ should _ be. This,” she shook his hands for emphasis, “has worth. Even if you never manage anything else, it is still worth something, because it is part of you.” 

She closed his hands then, extinguishing his weak flame, but not the feeling of it. He could still feel the warmth in his palm and crawling through his veins, not burning, but soothing. He leaned forward and briefly pressed their foreheads together, knowing that those words were hers. They didn’t come from her mother, they were the words she’d needed and never heard.  _ You have worth because you are alive _ .

“Thank you Ronnie,” he said. Surprise flickered across her face, but she said nothing. She simply pulled her hands away and turned to look at that tree again. 

“We… should get back. They’re probably whipped up into a froth over you being gone,” she said, rising to her feet. He followed suit and took her arm gently in his, and they took off together at a quick pace. His attention remained back on the bench, with Veronica’s hands holding his, and the warmth of a tiny flame. He wanted to hold onto that moment for just a little longer.

***

“Where have the two of you been?! I was just about to call for a search!” Rodrigue said, grabbing Dimitri by the back of the arm. Dimitri flinched at the pinch, but said nothing. He’d earned a little rough treatment.

“I apologize, I asked Veronica to escort me into town for a short walk. I should have told you,” he said. Rodrigue took a deep breath, the bluster of his fearful anger rushing out of him with his sigh. 

“Dima, you cannot simply leave whenever you feel like it, you must at least tell us where you are going so that we can ensure you’re safe. Lady Llwyd is hardly a good substitute for a retinue of knights.”

“A retinue of knights would have drawn too much attention, Rodrigue. My desire was to go about unbothered,” he said.

Rodrigue sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes as if counting to ten. When he opened them again, he looked calm, but there was a stubbornness in the set of his jaw. Dimitri knew this look well, he’d seen it on Felix’s face a time or two. It was the face of a man who wasn’t going to give up, but simply continue the argument later. 

“Your uncle needs to see you, Dima. Lady Llwyd, tea is served upstairs if you’re of a mind,” he said, offering her his arm. Veronica hesitated a moment, but took it gingerly. Rodrigue cradled her arm in the crook of his easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, despite her awkwardness. 

“Where is he?” Dimitri asked. 

“In his study, it seemed rather important, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Dimitri held down a scowl and nodded, bowing slightly to excuse himself. He climbed the stairs and headed east, towards  _ his father’s _ study, where his uncle waited. He focused on the memory of that bench in the botanical garden, rather than the cold gazes of his uncle’s guards. He raised his fist and knocked, waiting to be invited inside. 

“Enter,” his uncle said. Dimitri stepped inside and looked around. Everything was as his father had left it. “Ah good, there you are.”

“What was it you needed, Uncle?” Dimitri asked. 

“You and your little entourage will be returning to Fhirdiad. We leave in three days. When you arrive, there will be a young lady waiting to see you, do try and show her a good time, Dima. House Goneril is eager to advance themselves, and I’ve heard good things about Lady Gertrude. I expect you to at least  _ try _ .”

“Aren’t I a little young for Lady Gertrude? She’s 19.”

“And you’re turning 15 in two weeks. Four years is not so much, don’t worry.” His uncle folded his hands on the desk, a calculating smile spreading out over his face. Dimitri suppressed a shiver and glared back, his mind racing. “Unless of course you find yourself smitten with Lady Llwyd, in which case, arrangements can be made,” he said.

“Of course not, Uncle. She is my vassal, such a thing would be highly inappropriate,” he said. 

His stomach clenched at the look in his uncle’s cold eyes. He was seeking weaknesses, and trying to decide if Veronica was yet another gap in his armor. He prayed that his uncle bought his lie and didn’t realize that she was indeed. 

“Well, that’s all I had for you, Dima. You may go.”

Dimitri bowed and hurried from the room, his mind buzzing. He needed to warn the others that his uncle could see the tightening of their bonds. He just needed time alone with them both, time to… 

_ Orange lilies… a warning. _

Yes. That would work. It would allow him to warn them without alerting his uncle’s little spies. He took a deep breath, a sense of calm washing over him. It had been a good idea to take Veronica to that garden, it seemed. At least now he knew a little something about flowers and messages. 

_ Veronica you clever little devil _ .


	9. Raven's Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and company return to Fhirdiad, and find that the jaws of the trap might be nearer to snapping shut than they realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence, my laptop crapped out on me. I actually finished this chapter up on my phone. So if there are any weird typos, I apologize.   
> Thankfully, I have two more chapters I can mostly reuse, and should have a new laptop by then. So there shouldn't be any long periods of inactivity.   
> As always, I hope you're having a good day, don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

She drifted in and out of consciousness as Dimitri spoke, his voice soft and sweet like baked apples. She wanted to contribute to the conversation, she wanted to be able to pay attention to what was being said, but she was so tired. She wanted to go home. Home to the forest, mossy and golden, with its winding creeks and secret groves, its feral roses and stalking beasts. Home was her father and his brass telescope, his stories, his voice that tasted perfectly of vanilla and spice. Home was her brothers and sister. She missed them fiercely, and yet… she was confused to find herself empty at the thought of her mother.

There was no pain, no sadness, no anger. There was only a numbness she couldn’t escape. She tried to remember something about her that conjured a happy memory and came up empty handed. She remembered instead the night of Dimitri’s tenth birthday and how she had lashed out at Miklan Gautier when he’d tried to force a kiss on her. She remembered the way her magic flared violently, how frost had raced through her veins and bloomed from the tips of her fingers, and blistered his face. 

Her mother had broken her hand for that. She could recall the sparks of pain that had shot up her wrist and the Margrave’s horrified expression. Her mother had been cold, calculated, and utterly ruthless in her punishment. She’d cried in her father’s arms the whole way back home, but her mother had been unmoved. Her father said nothing, he only held her and stroked her back. There was nothing but anger and fear in that carriage.

Had they all feared her mother the way she did? Had she ever hurt Sebastian? The little ones? Her father? She ached with the realization that she would never know. She couldn’t ask them. She trembled and pulled her coat more tightly around herself, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. Grief stabbed at her heart as she once again thought of them. Her lip quivered. Every bump in the road, every turn of the wheels took her further and further away from home. Would she ever get to go back? Was there any point? Should she just let herself go the way of her family? Should she not join them? Why should she get to live when they didn’t?

No. No, she couldn’t do that yet. She had to prove their innocence before she could join them. She pushed the thoughts of rest away and focused instead on the rise and fall of Dimitri’s voice, and the soft murmur of Dedue’s. She still couldn’t quite follow what they were talking about, but it didn’t matter. 

“Your voices taste nice,” she mumbled. 

“...what?” Dimitri asked. 

“They taste nice.”

“Taste… Ronnie? Are you feeling alright?” 

Veronica huffed and forced her eyes open, though she didn’t bother to sit up. She studied them for a moment, trying to decide how she would explain. Her father had experienced the world as she did, and never needed her to explain, but her mother had told her it was strange, and perhaps even off putting, but she wanted them to understand. She wanted them to know.

“I… realize this is an odd thing to say, but sounds have tastes to me.” She shrugged and sank more deeply into her coat. 

They mulled it over, as though trying to decide if they thought her mad or not. Dimitri cocked his head, his expression openly curious. 

“What do they taste like?” he asked. 

“Yours tastes like apples. Dedue’s like loam and jasmine tea. They go surprisingly nice together.”

“Does yours have a taste to you?” Dedue asked. Veronica wet her lips and looked down at her hands. 

“Yes. It tastes… coppery. Like someone dropped a handful of coins into mulled wine. I don’t like it.” 

Her voice had changed with age, but that coppery taste was new. She’d only noticed it after one of her captors’ little experiments. They’d seemed pleased when she’d woken. They’d called it ‘promising,’ whatever that meant to them.

“I’ve noticed that people who are related always have something in common. For instance, your father’s voice tasted of some sort of apple liquor. Your uncle’s tastes like… fermenting apples. It’s horrendous.”

“That’s truly fascinating. I didn’t know there were people who experienced the world in such a way. Have you always had this?” Dimitri asked. She nodded. 

“Yes, ever since I can remember. Father had it too, though he experienced sound as color.”

They didn’t look put off to her. They seemed genuinely fascinated and pensive. They seemed to regard her the same way they had before she told them. Perhaps even more warmly than they had before. 

“What’s your favorite sound?” Dimitri asked, leaning forward slightly. She thought about it a moment, unsure. 

“There… was a meadow not too far from the castle where I would sneak away sometimes. There was a brook that ran through, and when the wind blew, it rustled the reeds in a very particular way. It tasted like plum pudding and the brook tasted of chocolate. It was a perfect combination.”

Dimitri leaned back in his seat, looking satisfied. Dedue smiled and crossed his legs, turning his gaze towards the window. 

“Thank you for telling us that, Ronnie. It’s good to know you better.”

Veronica turned away from his warm smile and tried to find the will to throw her walls back up. She was letting them get too close. Her mother had warned her away from that.  _ Draw a circle around yourself and let no one inside. _ She’d drawn her circle tight around herself, but it was a lonely way to live. Had her mother ever struggled with that as well? Surely not, as her mother was strong. 

She drooped against the door, watching the scenery flash by them. She grew sleepy again in the silence, so she let her eyes slide shut and allowed herself to drift. Dimitri and Dedue coaxed her towards sleep with their quiet murmuring. Dedue’s soft laugh was the last thing she heard before sleep claimed her.

***

_ The sourness of grief and fear was all around her. Roisin lay in her arms, her teeth crumbling like sand, her hair falling out in clumps.  _

_ “Why didn’t you save us?” she asked, reaching out to wrap her little hands around her neck, while Weylin’s took her by the wrists. They drug her down into the muck and leaf litter of the forest, where Sebastian rested. Hands tore at her hair and clothes, pain seared down the back of her neck.  _

_ She opened her mouth to scream, but found that only swarms of botflies left it. She thrashed and fought against the hands, but nothing helped. She was trapped. Her lungs burned for air, her head spun, her eyes ached. She went slack and stopped fighting. There was no need. Everything went black. _

She gasped when she woke, looking around fretfully. Dimitri looked up at her from the palm of his hand, where a weak light flickered. She watched it dance there for a moment before she sat up and cupped his hands in hers, inspecting his work. It was barely bright enough to see him by, and cast eerie, sickly shadows across Dedue’s sleeping face, but it was steady. Far more stable than it had been that day in the garden.

“Bad dream?” he whispered. 

She nodded and frowned as he closed his hands, extinguishing the light. They sat there together by the light of the moon, and Veronica couldn’t help but admire the effect it had on his face. She didn’t mind admitting that he was handsome, and would only become more so as he aged. It was an objective fact, like that the earth was round or that the sun rose in the east.

“You’ve already improved,” she said, nodding at his hands. He smiled at her, looking well and truly pleased with himself, as if he were lacking in positive affirmation. With that cranky old war dog as his teacher, perhaps he was. 

“When we manage a moment, I’ll begin teaching you more involved things.”

It wasn’t necessarily that he was a natural, but he  _ was _ enthusiastic and open minded. That made him a good student. A delightful student, even. She  _ liked _ teaching him. She wanted to see just how far she could take the boy the Academy mages had thrown away. 

Were he not the Prince, would he have been just one more undereducated, undervalued boy? Would he have died in the muck for King and Country, with no armor and only a pitchfork for a weapon? How did they break this cycle?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. Dedue shifted in his sleep, but his breathing remained even and deep. Veronica chewed on the question a moment, wondering how best to answer. How did she tell a Prince that she didn’t think Princes should exist?

“I… was thinking about the disparity between us and our people. And how… I think it is unfair and cruel.”

“Those are weighty thoughts. I can’t say I disagree. I am only the Prince by chance, I could have easily been a poor man’s son, after all. I’d like to narrow the gap,” he said. She sighed in relief, her fear that he would be angry with her dissipating like morning mist. 

“How do you plan to do that?”

“It will take considerable reforms and reallocation of funds, but I can do it. The people must be educated, first and foremost. They must learn how to read, arithmetic, the laws. That in of itself will go a long way in the change we seek.”

He was right, but why stop there? Why not reach for the moon until they were burned by the stars? Why did they need a King? Why did they need nobility? Their ancestors had neither. They’d been led by a selected council, chosen from each clan. Why not return to that and give their people a say? Why did they need what the Empire and Church of Seiros had impressed upon them?

“We should try to sleep,” she said, rather than voice any of her thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to speak of such things.

“Mmm.”

Dimitri shifted so that his face was hidden in shadow. She leaned against the door once more, pillowing her head on her arm. It had been four days since they’d departed for Fhirdiad, and her back was aching something fierce. She remembered from the time that she’d come with her mother that they were getting close. It had taken less time because the weather had been good for travel, but the landscape was changing from forests and small hamlets to plains and proper villages. She closed her eyes against the moon and forced herself to think of something besides the pain in her rear end. 

_ Soon. _

***

Dimitri stretched and groaned, turning just in time to see Dedue help a stiff legged Veronica down from the carriage. Nearly five days of travel had taken its toll on them all, it seemed. He so desperately wanted a proper bath that he found himself longing to sprint up to his room. Veronica and Dedue seemed of a similar mind.

“Welcome home, Dima,” his uncle said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder.

“Thank you Uncle. It’s good to be back.”

And it truly was. It was good to see the spires of the Grand Cathedral and hear the bells tolling the hour. It was good to see familiar faces bustling about, to smell Fhirdiad’s salty, heavy air. He shrugged his uncle off and walked stiffly up the stairs. He didn’t need to turn around and check to ensure that Veronica and Dedue followed him. He knew they did.

He knew they would all want a bath and some time alone. Perhaps a nap in a proper lying position. He’d been afraid Veronica would fall out of the carriage for days now, so it would be nice not to worry about that. 

"Lady Gertrude will be here shortly, Dima. You'd best hurry and get cleaned up," his uncle said.

Dimitri suppressed a groan. After so long in the carriage, the last thing he wanted to do was entertain a girl he had no interest in. But… it was too late to back out. He had to at least meet with her. 

"Of course, Uncle." 

A nap  _ after  _ he scared off Lady Gertrude, then. 

***

"Good day, Your Highness. It's wonderful to meet you," Gertrude simpered. 

Dimitri forced himself to smile, but even he could tell it was unconvincing. It felt toothy and jagged. Gertrude faltered. 

"Likewise, My Lady. I trust your journey went smoothly?" 

Gertrude recovered herself and launched into the story of her trip, complete with complaints about the cold and her driver's carelessness. Dimitri could feel his eyes glaze over as she talked, his disinterest catching up with him. 

What had he expected? His uncle had stressed that he was to show this girl a good time, but his insistence only made him want to do the opposite. He wanted to bore her. He wanted her to find him as bland and uninteresting as possible. He wanted her to leave disappointed. 

The sound of glass cracking drug him from his thoughts and he looked down to find that he'd broken his teacup. Gertrude looked at it for a moment, her expression full of worry. 

"Um… Your Highness?"

"Yes?" 

"Are you… okay?" Gertrude asked. 

A thrill shot through him at the prospect of telling her the truth. While her potential sadness was regrettable, his uncle's anger would be delicious. Perhaps it would even give him cause to defend himself. 

"Truth be told, My Lady, I have no interest in marriage. I'm merely humoring my uncle with this little meeting. It'll go nowhere." 

Gertrude was quiet for a long moment before she seemed to deflate, all the bravado draining out of her. Relief replaced her coquettish smile. 

"That's unfortunate for my family, but I admit that I'm rather glad. You're so young! Too young," she said. 

"I pointed that out to Uncle Rufus, but he insisted." 

"How dreadful. My uncle won't even consider letting little Hilda enter any negotiations until she's sixteen," she said. 

"Well. Since we seem to be on the same page, would you like to take a walk? I've been sitting for days, my back is aching terribly." He felt far more at ease after he got the truth out. Lying had never been his strong suit. 

"Sure! I wouldn't mind moving around some myself." 

He nodded and stood, offering her his arm, as was proper. She took it almost as though he were made of paper, her grip never fully resting upon him. It was much the same way as Veronica had touched him for the first time. Was his strength truly so unsettling that it made people uneasy in his grasp? Could they tell just by touching him that he was a turbulent mess of nerves and anger?

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"It's just that you seem so… sad." 

He shook his head and forced himself to smile. He could never tell this stranger that he was a raw wound. He could distract himself with help from his friends, but the emptiness behind his ribs never abated. He was and would probably remain unresolved. 

"I'm fine, don't worry." 

He wasn't sure if she looked convinced or not, but it didn't really matter. She wouldn't question him. No one ever did. 

He led her out of the parlor, down the stairs, and out into the gardens. She was much shorter than Veronica, which forced him to walk more slowly, but he found he didn't mind. There was nowhere to be, after all.

***

"Dedue, look," Veronica said, pointing out the window. Dedue came to stand beside her and gazed down at the Regent and his small entourage as they strode towards a waiting carriage. He was dressed simply, as though he were trying to be discreet. 

"Now where do you suppose he's going?" She asked, her tone implying that she would be finding out. 

"Shall we take a trip into town? His Highness' birthday is approaching. We should get him a small token of our appreciation."

She smiled conspiratorially, wrapping her arms around his, her hands resting in the crook of his elbow. 

"I think that's a fine idea. What do you suppose he'd like?" She asked. 

"Perhaps a new whetstone or a pair of new gloves. He prefers things that are useful." 

"Well let us go then." 

***

The carriage wasn't hard to find. They found it parked at a stable in the merchant's quarter, and caught sight of the Regent by chance. They kept him in their sights as they meandered down side streets and cut through alleys. 

Veronica frowned when they reached an innocuous inn and pulled him around a corner, watching from around a cobbler's shop. She cast a look around, as though to ensure they were alone there in the alley. 

"That's the Three Keys. If I had to guess, he's looking for something, or meeting someone."

"To what end?" He asked. She shrugged and they watched as he disappeared inside. Veronica shifted anxiously on the spot. 

"It's a shame we can't follow him," he said. 

"I can get a closer look at least." 

"How?"

She smiled wanly, dropped his arm, and stepped away. 

"Keep a lookout, this won't take long."

He watched as she closed her eyes and mouthed an incantation, before she was engulfed in a flash of light. Where there had been a girl was now a handsome crow rising on the wind, her cry sharp and clear. 

He'd heard tales of people who could take the form of animals, but had never expected to see one. He'd always thought they were nothing more than folklore. 

She circled the building twice before perching in a tree on the eastern corner. She sat there for a long time, as though engrossed in whatever she was seeing before she took to the sky again and headed back to him. He offered his arm and she lighted there, her scaly, clawed feet grasping his coat. 

A group of women passed, shooting them confused, suspicious glances before hurrying away, whispering to each other. He did his best to ignore the leaden feeling in his gut. 

As soon as they were alone again, she hopped from her perch and seemed to unfold from the shape of bird. Wings became arms, feathers became raven hair. She landed with a soft 'thump' upon the cobbles. 

"I… didn't know you could do that." 

"It takes a lot of practice."

She led them back towards the markets, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Dedue waited patiently, knowing she would tell him what she saw in time. Finally, after several minutes of silence, she turned to him, troubled. 

"I recognized the woman he was meeting, but I can't say from where. I've seen her before...I  _ know _ I have, but when I try to think of it, I see only darkness." 

There was a slight tremor in her hand, telling him she was more distressed than she let on. Dedue covered her hand with his, rubbing soothing circles across the lump of an old injury near her ring finger. 

"That's alright. We at least can say with certainty that he's up to something. That's more than we had. Let us buy our gift and be on our way. I'm not eager for him to beat us back."

"Yes… yes, you're right. I think a whetstone will serve nicely. His hands are bigger than one might anticipate… gloves would be… problematic."

Dedue hummed and handed her his coin purse. She didn't question it, she understood why. She bobbed a quick nod and disappeared into the shop and Dedue did his best to ignore the scathing looks he got from passersby, and did his best not to hate them. 

***

"Did you two have a good day?" Dimitri asked, pouring himself a cup of tea. 

"It was… eventful," Veronica breezed. 

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, we went into town, bought you a birthday gift, and did some people watching. There was a woman with the most ridiculous hat… covered in orange lilies." 

Dimitri paused, shooting a glance up at the two of them before he hooked a careful finger around the handle of the teacup. 

"I see. That does sound quite eventful. A shame I couldn't go with you, but… well."

"Yes how  _ did _ that go, by the way? Are you to be a married man?" Veronica asked, her tone playfully mocking. Dedue snorted into his tea, hiding his smile behind his cup. 

"No alas, we decided it best if we just remain friends."

"Oh I'm sure His Majesty will be  _ thrilled _ ."

They fell into a thoughtful silence then, but Dimitri could see an entire conversation flying between Veronica and Dedue, despite their silence. When she spoke next, it was with great care. 

"Speaking of women… I saw a familiar face, but I can't seem to remember her name. She was tall, and blue eyed, with the most striking strawberry blonde hair. She was… beautiful, but something seemed… off." 

Dimitri thought a moment. The only woman who matched such a description that he knew of was…

"Cornelia Arnim?" 

"Perhaps so. Hmmmm… I do believe you're right. Where have I met her before?" 

Veronica grew fussy as she thought, twisting and untwisting her napkin. 

The silence stretched out between them, loud and long, laden with understanding. 

_ We must be careful... _


	10. The Space Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri's friends arrive for his birthday, but he senses that they have all grown apart, and Veronica is faced with a difficult decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my new laptop, so there shouldn't be a huge space of time where this doesn't get updated again. Next chapter is the last one I'll be reusing. After that we're on our own. I hope everyone's enjoyed the story so far and that you'll stick with me. Please let me know how I'm doing, and have a good day.

It had been a long time, and he was almost overwhelmed with excitement as a carriage flying the colors of House Fraldarius came to a stop in the courtyard. He all but bounced on his toes as the porter opened the door for Rodrigue, and then Felix. They bowed, as was proper, but Dimitri waited only a moment before pulling the younger Fraldarius into an embrace. Felix returned it with surprising fierceness, his hand sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck. Dimitri nearly winced at the sharp tug. 

“It’s good to see you, Dima. Are you okay?” Felix murmured, pulling back to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m… okay,” he said. He couldn’t tell Felix the truth. He’d lost much that day; it wouldn’t be fair to add yet more worry or pain onto the pile.

“Good. I’m sorry for not coming to see you sooner; Father  _ insisted _ that you needed space.” Felix snorted, his amber eyes strangely hard. What stuck out most to Dimitri in that moment was the word ‘father.’ Since when did Felix refer to Rodrigue in such a way? He tucked the thought away for later, now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“All is well, Felix. I’m hardly offended.”

_ I missed you. _

“Ingrid and Sylvain will be here soon; they were right behind us. Should we wait here?” Felix asked. Dimitri nodded, and smiled when Rodrigue came to stand beside him. He didn’t miss the way Felix glowered and looked away. 

“Goodness, Dima; have you grown taller since I saw you last?” Rodrigue asked, ruffling his hair in that warm, familial way he had.

“Not that I know of, but who can keep up?”

“Where is that  _ charming _ young lady?” Rodrigue asked.

“Uncle has her temporarily…  _ detained _ . Lord Emrys has come to discuss the fate of county Llwyd. Veronica’s presence is necessary,” Dimitri said. Rodrigue’s lips twitched into a small frown, his steely eyes flickering across his face as though he were looking for something. 

“I see. I imagine that will be a very…  _ uncomfortable _ meeting. I do hope that the negotiations go favorably,” he said. His tone was careful, as though he was worried that someone might overhear and misunderstand.

They fell into a thoughtful silence as two more carriages came to a stop, flying the colors of House Gautier and Galatea respectively. He greeted Sylvain and Ingrid in much the same way he had Felix, but his enthusiasm had been tempered both by his worry, and the awkwardness with which they embraced him. They handled him as if he were something both fragile and dangerous. 

“How are you both? Has time been kind?” Dimitri asked. 

“You know me, Your Highness. I’ve never let anything bother me, I’m not about to start now,” Sylvain drawled.

“I’ve told you not to call me that! We’ve been friends since we were small, there’s no reason to be so formal,” Dimitri huffed. Perhaps his tone was more distressed than he’d realized, because Sylvain’s easy expression slipped and he held his hands up in a placating manner. 

“I was just teasing, Dima; don’t look so serious,” Sylvain said. He ruffled Dimitri’s hair, but it seemed somehow performative. What had he done wrong? Had he been changed so deeply that those that had loved him before couldn’t any longer? Had they ever truly loved him?

“When is El going to arrive?” Ingrid asked, her tone quick and overly polite, as if she were desperate to change the subject.

It had been almost five years since El had been home, but she’d written many times. Despite a lengthy gap in their correspondence and the troubling rumors surrounding the other Imperial children, she’d sounded genuinely excited in her last letter. 

“Tomorrow morning, supposedly. She was supposed to be here today, but there was some sort of delay. We’ve been assured that it’s nothing to be worried about,” he said. 

“Good day, Your Highness. You look well,” Margrave Gautier said. His voice was as stern as always, his sharp gaze flitting across his face, then to his hair and clothing. Always appraising. Always  _ judging _ . “I’m glad to see that you’ve put some weight back on. You were too thin last I saw you.”

Once he’d discovered that he could no longer taste his food, his appetite disappeared, and it had taken much begging from Dedue to get him back on any sort of schedule. At first, he’d only been able to stomach things Dedue made. The dishes were unfamiliar, and that allowed him to eat without getting ill. Sometimes those old, nostalgic foods still made him feel sick.

“Still a bit lost in your own head, though.” The Margrave’s tone was scolding, and Dimitri snapped to attention at the sound of it. He was the Prince, the rightful King. He couldn’t afford to look weak in front of the High Lords, and yet he still found looking anything but so incredibly difficult. 

“Ah, forgive me, My Lord. We should get inside, it’s quite cold today,” he said. 

He led his guests inside, away from the bite of the morning air. His friends chatted among themselves as they climbed the stairs to the solar, but he found it difficult to focus on anything they were saying. He was suddenly preoccupied with his worries. Was Veronica okay, alone in the room with them? Should he make an excuse to sit in with her? And what of Dedue? Was there really something of great import Gustave had needed, or was he simply avoiding him?

A tense silence brought him out of his thoughts and back into the moment, and when he turned to look behind him, he found that his friends had paused in the middle of the hall. They looked at him expectantly, their gazes full of confusion and pity. The pity was infuriating. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Dima… we were asking you about plans for the day,” Ingrid said. 

“Ah, sorry. There’s a lot going on right now, I’m lost in my thoughts. Why don’t we settle down in the parlor and decide together? There’s no need to stand in the hallway.” 

The three of them exchanged troubled looks, but they followed after him obediently, filing into his cozy antechamber one after the other. They settled themselves on the plush sofa near the hearth, and Dimitri took his preferred chair. He tugged the soft wool blanket over his shoulders and pulled his legs into his chest. He was getting too tall to sit in such a way, but he would continue to curl into himself for as long as he could. He was under no illusions that he was still a child, but he had to cling to  _ something _ . 

“Now that we’re away from the others, how is everyone doing? Really?” Dimitri asked. He’d heard that Ingrid had a difficult time for a while, he was glad to see her.

A tense, awkward silence fell in the aftermath of his question, as though he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. It happened almost every time anyone brought up what had happened that day, even ambiguously. No one talked. No one acknowledged the pain, the grief, or the utter wrongness of it all; as if refusing to talk about it would erase ‘Duscur’ from their lives and render the pain impotent. But it wouldn’t. Eventually, they would all have to reckon with what had happened.

“We’re fine, Dima,” Ingrid said. She smiled at him, but he couldn’t find encouragement in it. “I’m sure you’re fine too. You’ve always been strong.”

Dimitri frowned and shifted his gaze to the fire in the hearth. He  _ wasn’t _ fine, and his strength wouldn’t save him, not from this. He was weak in the way that mattered most, and it was what kept him from moving forward like they seemed to be. He was stuck back there in Duscur, among the flames and corpses, and perhaps he would always remain there. He longed to reach down inside himself and tear out the parts that kept him shackled, but he couldn’t. And perhaps he never would.

“...yes. I’m fine.”  _ I’m not. I have no choice. _

“Well, I’m glad we got that squared away! Now, why don’t we see what kind of trouble we can get ourselves into?” Sylvain said, clapping Felix and Ingrid on the shoulders. 

“Sure. There’s no need to simply sit in here. Come, I’m fairly certain the pond is solidly frozen,” Dimitri said, rising to his feet. Felix gave him a strange sort of look as he stood, as though he knew the truth of the matter, but was unwilling or perhaps unable to speak on it. If Felix said nothing, then no one else would, either. 

The last dregs of his excitement drained away as they moved towards the door. He was struck by an overwhelming sense of loneliness, despite how very near to him they were. They were so close and yet so very far away. They may as well be stars, and he a boy of foolish dreams and a weak heart. They drifted by, indifferent. 

***

She sat stiffly beside him, using every lesson her mother had ever given her to appear calm. The Pig sat too closely, his knees touching hers beneath the table. Her uncle sat across from them, a similarly false calm radiating off of him. No one spoke or moved, the air itself was tense and unwavering. Her uncle’s eyes flickered over her face, but she couldn’t read him. Did he hate her? Did he resent the fact that it was  _ her _ sitting across the table from him instead of Daphne? Could she even find it in herself to blame him if that were so?

_ You are the Matriarch now, it doesn’t matter. _

She tried to believe those words, but she couldn’t do it. Her mother had all but beaten them into her, and yet they never stuck. She was no Matriarch, she was a stray. All that they had ever been had died on the gallows, in Coedwig Bywd, or slowly suffering on a stone floor. It was lost.

“So what is it that you have summoned me for,  _ Your Majesty _ ?” her uncle asked. 

“Well, dear Veronica has gone through great pains to secure clemency for you, Emrys. For better or worse, you are now a vassal of House Blaiddyd. I feel it’s best if we discuss the fate of county Llwyd and what this may mean going forward,” The Pig said.

Her uncle snorted, wholly unimpressed. It was hard to tell who his distaste was meant for, but ultimately did she not deserve it? She had sold them all into servitude to save her own neck, after all. If he slipped a dagger between her ribs at his first chance, he would probably be doing them a favor.

“As you are no doubt aware, she is too young to assume the title of Countess; the country has fallen under the governance of House Gwynn, but they are a lesser House of few means. County Llwyd has suffered without proper leadership.”

Her uncle folded his hands on the table, his eyes flinty and shrewd. He didn’t spare a glance at her, but instead continued to glare at the Regent. She watched a muscle tense and relax in his jaw as he ground his teeth and she longed to reach out and touch it so that he would stop. It was a habit she had picked up from her Father, and it often made her head hurt. 

“I dare say we’ve been reduced to a similar state, what is your point, exactly?” he asked. 

The Regent paused, his lips twitching up into a calculated smile. Veronica hissed quietly as his hand rested on her knee under the table as he leaned towards her uncle. Though his tone was light, malice dripped from every syllable.

“I wish to reinstate House Llwyd and return their lands and title; but I must have proof of its loyalty, Emrys. Veronica may have sworn herself into the service of my nephew, but that is only as good as her word; and she  _ is _ Maeve’s daughter. I propose a more…  _ permanent  _ union between the families.”

Her stomach dropped. If there was one thing her mother had tried to avoid, it was a strictly political match for her children. She met her uncle’s eyes from across the table, and was unsurprised to see him scowling.

“You  _ propose _ an alliance by marriage? For  _ whom _ ?” he asked. He narrowed his eyes, his lips curling back over his teeth, “I will not sell my niece for mere bricks and mortar,  _ Rufus _ .”

“Do I not get a say in this? It’s most rude to discuss me as though I am not present,” she huffed. The Regent turned his cold eyes on her, his smile patronizing and devoid of any warmth.

“Of course, Little Bird; forgive us. Please, if you have more to offer, I’ll gladly hear of it,” he crooned. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard that a sour, coppery taste filled her mouth and blended with the foulness of his voice. 

“I’m hardly old enough to be wed, Your Majesty; to whom are you suggesting I submit myself?” she asked. 

“You needn’t worry, Little Bird. There is only one appropriate choice.”

_ That tells me nothing _ .

“And if I refuse?”

“You have that right, certainly; but considering public opinion regarding the two of you… I cannot promise either of you will be safe,” he said.

She had no cards left to play. There was nothing she could use to buy their safety, because it was not anything material that he was interested in. Promises of her fealty hadn’t been enough, and there was nothing she could give him that would satisfy. What he wanted from her was within her blood. She glanced at her uncle, watching as that muscle began to twitch in his jaw once more. Regardless of whatever The Pig said, if she refused, she had no doubt that he would be dead within the day. There was only one answer.

“I take it that any union between myself and House Blaiddyd—”

“ _ Veronica _ —”

“—will grant unilateral clemency to any surviving members of mine?”

“Of course. Any family of yours would be family of  _ ours _ .” 

Her skin crawled at the way he said it. Though she doubted that he’d planned such a thing, he’d certainly taken his chance. Wolves were opportunists. 

_ But so are bears. _

“You still haven’t told us to whom she would be engaged,” her uncle said. His voice was taut with anger, but sh _ e _ could hear his fear clearly.

“As I said, there is only one who is appropriate.”

“Should  _ he _ not be present for such a talk?” she asked. The Regent’s lips twitched up slightly, but it was hardly what any would call a smile.

“There are arrangements to be made, I’ll take care of them. I need your answer before we proceed.”

Veronica took a deep breath and met her uncle’s gaze across the table once more. He said nothing, but he was all but begging her to say no. She knew him well enough to see that.

“May I have a moment to speak privately with Lord von Vestra?” she asked. The Regent rose to his feet, motioning to the knights standing on either side of the door. 

“Of course, take a moment. This is a big decision, after all.” He left them alone together, but she was under no illusion that they were unsupervised. 

“Veronica, do not do this. You  _ know _ you can’t trust him,” he whispered.

“And what other choice have I, Uncle? If I say no, you will be floating face down in the river before sundown, and I am likely to meet a similar fate myself. I am  _ trying _ to save our skins,” she hissed in return.

He shoved a hand through his hair, his expression desperate and wild. He paced back and forth, just as her father would have. She could see how his mind raced, seeking other options; but for that moment, what other options were there?

“I will find a way to fix this. I swear it. We don’t have to simply accept things as they are. I refuse to lose you to this, not after all that has happened.” He pulled her into an embrace, his hand rubbing soothing circles between her shoulders. She tensed on instinct, bracing herself for pain that didn’t come. She relaxed gradually, and he took her weight easily.

“I am not without allies, Uncle. I have no intention of simply giving up; you needn’t worry so.” She squeezed him more tightly, burying her face into the dense fur collar of his coat. He smelled of sage smoke and his voice still tasted of brandy and apricot jam. He was warm, and solid, and  _ safe _ . She had missed him terribly. 

“I will see what I can do. Many of our contacts have fled, but not all. Do what you must to survive, and find out what you can. I will do the same.”

“Don’t get yourself killed in the process, I beg of you,” she murmured.

“I’ll do everything I can. I will help you. I love you.”

Her lip wobbled, but she bit down on it to keep herself in check. She’d already embarrassed herself once, she didn’t need to do it again so soon. Not when they were in such danger.

“I… love you too, Uncle. I shall write you when the opportunity presents itself. We have… much to discuss.” Was it okay for her to say such a thing? To  _ accept _ such a thing? She was hardly a good replacement for his own daughter.

They pulled away when there came a knock on the door, and The Pig entered moments later; his guards following closely behind. Veronica took a moment to look at them. They were both large, muscular men, but they didn’t belong to the Royal Knights. In fact, they had no identifying marks on them at all. They were dressed largely in black, but their tabards were white. No House used black as their primary charge, and the Duchy of Itha itself had no black anywhere in its heraldry. It was most odd. 

“Have you come to a decision, Little Bird?”

“I am willing to entertain the idea, provided my uncle and any surviving members of my House are granted proper clemency, Your Majesty. I would like to discuss the matter further, with His Highness and the High Lords present. He  _ is _ the only  _ appropriate _ choice, after all,” she said. 

The Regent’s expression didn’t falter. It betrayed no surprise nor anger. He had either meant as such, or he was very good at playing these sorts of games. She couldn’t be positive which it was, but she had the feeling she would find out soon.

“Of course. I am a man of my word, Little Bird. You are both welcome in my family. There are some… kinks to be ironed out, but we will have another discussion on the matter before it is made public,” he said. 

“And when will that be?” her uncle asked. 

“Eager are we? Well, likely some time after Dima’s birthday.”

She found herself drawn back to the two men flanking the door. They were far too blaise about their duty. Mercenaries? No… their equipment was bespoke, and what mercenary company would leave themselves unannounced? Their livelihoods depended upon their services being advertised, after all. It was troubling. 

“You are free to go, Emrys. We’ll discuss the reinstatement of House Llwyd’s lands and title in more detail soon,” the Regent said. He turned his gaze back on Veronica, his eyes lingering a little too long for comfort, “you ought to meet up with Dima and the others, they were headed down to the pond last I heard.”

Veronica frowned and took her uncle’s arm, “I would like to see him out first, Your Majesty. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him,” she said. 

“Of course! Please, I imagine you both have much to talk about.” 

Veronica curtseyed, and they made their way quickly down the hall, away from the Regent and his cloying falseness. She could feel the eyes of those lumbering thugs boring into her back, but she kept her eyes forward. They were  _ trying _ to unsettle her. It was in her best interest to hide how effective they were at it.

Her uncle placed a careful hand over hers and she found herself unable to meet his eyes now that they were away from the Regent and his thugs. There were too many things she wanted to say to him, but they stayed lodged in her throat like a fishbone. She shielded her eyes from the sun, breathing in the cold air. 

“You needn’t worry so much, dear. I swore to both Maeve and Lucien that I would protect you. I have no intention of turning back on that promise,” he murmured. He pulled her into another embrace, squeezing her fiercely. “Write me. I will help you however I can.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep you abreast of any changes. Please guard yourself… I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.” 

That they would be separated now, despite all that seemed favorable, was nearly too cruel to be true. In a more just world, she would be leaving alongside him; but she couldn’t simply leave now. She had a debt to repay, an oath to fulfill. 

“The sentiment is very much mutual, my dear. I love you, never doubt it.”

They didn’t say her name, but she knew they each felt Daphne’s absence. They clung to each other, saw her in each other, and missed her together. She could only begin to imagine the pain he felt. He’d lost his wife in exchange for his daughter, and his daughter for another man’s vanity. If she did nothing else with her life, she  _ would _ make that right. 

“And I you. Safe travels.”

She stood watch as his carriage trundled out of view and the fear of the uncertain settled over her. How could she  _ know _ he would be safe if she wasn’t there to watch over him? What if he was attacked? What if he died in an accident? What if seeing  _ her _ there instead of his own child was enough to make him take his own life?

Her throat tightened and her stomach lurched, leaving her weak and lightheaded. Sweat beaded on her brow and her heart slammed viciously against her ribs. All she could hear was a strange ringing in her ears, but she could  _ feel _ just how hard she was breathing. 

She slapped away the hand that touched her on instinct and was helpless to stop the surge of magic that overpowered the wards and bit at unsuspecting fingertips. She quickly found herself face to face with Duke Fraldarius, who took her gently by the elbow and led her away. If she had hurt him, he made no mention of it.

They didn’t speak as they walked, he simply cradled her arm in the crook of his own, his gloved hand carefully petting hers. She focused on the repetitive motion and soon found herself able to breathe. Worry still poked at the back of her mind, but it was easier to focus on the person beside her as they walked. She was surprised to find herself in the solar, being eased into a leather wingback chair before the fire. She could hear him murmuring indistinctly, but lacked the energy to turn and look. 

“I’ve sent for tea, Lady Llwyd. It ought to help soothe you,” he said. He grunted as he eased himself down into the chair nearest hers. She stared into the fire, her eyelids drooping slightly as the warmth sunk into her. 

“I need nothing from you,” she said. The Duke chuckled in response and sank more deeply into his seat. That bitter taste she’d noticed prior was absent now. Perhaps it had simply been the influence of worry and contrition. 

“Maybe not, but I can’t very well leave you. My beloved Helena used to have those sorts of fits whenever I left. Nerves, I was told. She’d lost her father in a terrible accident; I don’t believe she ever recovered,” he said.

Not much was ever said about the late Duchess. Her mother had described her as ‘warm’ and ‘bright’ the one time she’d ever thought to ask. High praise, considering who it was coming from. Her mother was not keen to compliment often.

“I see. I suppose I should thank you, then.”

“There’s no need. I could hardly leave you there; I know you probably don’t feel like it, but you’re only a child. We’ve laid too much at your feet, I’m sorry. It never should have been so.”

A maid poured their tea and hurried away, leaving them to drink together in silence. Veronica sighed quietly as the delicate taste of chamomile filled her senses. It was naturally sweet and earthy, comforting in its simplicity. She turned to look at the Duke, watching him as he studied the flames rather than look at her.

“Do you know who His Majesty intends to wed me to?”

The look of shock that crossed the Duke’s face surprised her. These sorts of things were usually well known among the nobility. They were carefully considered and often required that more than one House be in favor. If someone as well connected and important as Duke Fraldarius didn’t know then… 

“This is the first I’ve heard of this.  _ Interesting _ .” He stared into the fire for a moment longer, his expression both pensive and concerned. He rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders. He looked like he fit the title ‘Shield of Faerghus’ for the first time since she’d returned. “This is an interesting bit of gossip, My Lady. I’ll need to get to the bottom of it, I should think.” 

She watched him go and placed her teacup down on the saucer. What was that swine up to? Her Crest had to be the only reason for such a demand; she was no great beauty. Dimitri already bore the Crest of Blaiddyd, and her major Crest would likely overpower his minor… perhaps one of his cousins? She was fairly certain she remembered a cousin of his from House Kleinman that was close in age but… it didn’t make much sense. If he were younger, she would be certain she knew what he meant; but the other High Lords were unlikely to agree to such an arrangement. Such large age disparities had long since fallen out of favor, and none seemed particularly fond of him. 

She sighed and rubbed at her face, bringing her cup back to her lips. She would simply have to wait until she could tell the others. Now wasn’t the time for it, though. Dimitri hadn’t seen these people in a while, and he’d suffered through much; and she could think of no reason to ruin his day or insert herself into it, even if there was a small part of her that  _ wanted _ to.

_ He’s not your friend, don’t forget. _

***

Dimitri’s nose was red and half frozen, and he was sweating under his coat. A snowball whizzed past his ear and he ducked behind his fort, panting in the cold air. Ingrid was attempting to flank him, while Sylvain and Felix were busy with one another. He took a chance and lobbed a snowball towards her, but she hopped aside and it splattered against a tree instead. 

“Your aim has gotten poor, Your Highness, you’re out of practice!” she taunted. 

He wanted to point out that he’d not exactly had the luxury of horseplay, but the reality was too bitter a pill. This was supposed to be a  _ good _ day. They were supposed to be having  _ fun _ . He chose to toss another snowball her way and keep his thoughts to himself. 

_ They’re just humoring you. _

He wished Dedue had joined them. It was Ingrid who had pointed out that his inclusion would make an uneven number, which seemed odd. They had partaken in these sorts of games with uneven numbers before, it wouldn’t have been hard to include him. They could have even waited to ask Veronica if she would join them, though he doubted that she would; she didn’t seem the type to enjoy these sorts of activities. 

“Dima?” 

Dimitri looked up to find Ingrid frowning down at him, worry etched deeply between her brows. She squatted down to look him in the eyes, drawing her lips into a thin line as she studied his face.

“You don’t seem to be in the mood for games. Maybe you’d prefer to talk for a bit instead?” she asked.

Dimitri cast a glance over the crest of his snow fort, watching for a time as Sylvain and Felix tussled in the snow. They were laughing and swearing, shoving fistfuls of snow into each other’s faces and down their coats. It was the sort of thing he no longer felt welcome in. There was simply too much riding on him, he was no longer his own.

_ Father… just be patient. Please. _

“Yes… I think I’d like that,” he said. Ingrid nodded and they stood up together.

“Hey, we’re going to take a walk. We’ll see you two in a few,” Ingrid called. Sylvain shot them a cheeky smile, but said nothing. Dimitri held his breath as Felix’s amber eyes flickered over his face, hoping that he wouldn’t see the truth.

Dimitri led her away, towards the gardens. It would be easy enough to find a place they could speak privately on such a cold day. They stayed side by side, but there was a tenseness between them that he found difficult to place. It was nothing like anger, but there was something unresolved, and it felt as though it would break at any moment. 

“What’s troubling you? It’s not like you to be so lost in your thoughts,” Ingrid said.

_ How are you not? _

“I… suppose that I’m simply distracted. There is so much to worry about, after all.”

“Oh, is this about the winter? I know it's been harder than usual, but we'll pull through,” she said. Her tone was dismissive, as though it were done and over with; as if there weren’t people displaced, starving, cold, or sick. As though her own province wasn’t one of the hardest hit by the year’s poor harvest and early frosts.

“Just because we can pull through doesn't mean everyone will. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, and then there’s also the matter of the refugees. There is still  _ plenty _ to worry about, Ingrid.” His tone was perhaps sharper than was necessary, but he couldn’t help it. She knew better than that, she was smart. 

“Speaking of the refugees… Dima… are you  _ sure _ that having a Duscuran so close is a good idea?” she asked. Dimitri came to an abrupt halt, his blood running cold.

“ _ Excuse me? _ ” 

“Don’t misunderstand me. It’s simply that he’s a stranger and could potentially betray you. I want you to be safe, and I don’t know if trusting him or that girl is wise.” Ingrid’s tone was sincere, reasonable; but the things she said were simply regurgitated rhetoric. ‘The Duscurans killed the King,’ ‘they’re dirty,’ ‘they’re bringing disease and poverty,’ ‘they can’t be trusted.’ He had heard these things whispered by many people already, but he couldn’t silence the lies as long as he had no proof.  _ However… _

“The Duscurans weren’t the ones who killed my Father, and it was the Llwyd knights who protected both myself and Dedue until help arrived. Trusting  _ them _ is the least dangerous thing I do in a day, Ingrid,” he said. The tension between them grew.

“There was a lot happening, Dima. You might be misremembering, so many others who were there remember it differently. I—”

And then the tension broke _. _

“Don’t you  _ dare _ tell me that I don’t know what was happening around me.” His voice dropped to low hiss, the anger and spite he kept locked away inside flowing freely. Ingrid took a step back, her expression openly surprised.

“Dima?”

"I was  **_there_ ** Ingrid. I saw them all die, one after the other. I saw  _ children _ murdered in the streets. I saw  _ Glenn _ die. Do not  _ ever _ try to tell me what I know,” he snapped. Ingrid’s shoulders shook, her green eyes wide and wet with unshed tears.  _ That was cruel. _ Dimitri took a single step forward, leaning down slightly to look her more directly in the eyes. “Believe whatever lies you’d like, if it makes your life easier; but understand me: I will tolerate no ill treatment of Dedue or Veronica, no falsehoods of either the Duscurans nor House Llwyd. Either stand with us, or  _ be silent. _ ”

He turned on his heel and stormed away, his words lingering over them. Ingrid called after him, but he ignored her. He was far too angry to speak with her further. He needed space, and something he could break.

***

She watched as he tossed aside yet another broken trainer. His chest heaved and his cheeks glowed with exertion, but there was something off about the way he moved. He was too forceful, too desperate. She caught Dedue’s eye, but he shook his head in response. He didn’t know either, it seemed.

Dimitri turned and looked between them as though he was surprised to see them there. His shoulders relaxed and he wiped the sweat away from his brow before shifting awkwardly on the spot.

“I apologize, I didn’t realize you two were here,” he said.

“I only just arrived. We need to talk, Your Highness,” she said, pushing herself away from the wall, “you should come as well, Dedue. We are all stuck in this mess together, after all.”

“Oh… okay. Let me clean up my mess. I’ll meet the two of you by the stairs,” he said. Dedue excused himself, but Veronica stayed where she was. Dimitri looked at her for a moment before stooping to gather pieces of splintered wood. 

“It’s a rather  _ important  _ conversation, so we’ll need a private place to talk,” she said, leaning down to scoop up a shattered hilt nearby. Dimitri caught it easily and dropped it into a wooden bucket. He shrugged out of his weighted gambeson, and turned away to drape it across a rack to dry. His shirt clung to his back, made sheer by sweat; her eyes locked onto a series of angry purple scars between his shoulders. It didn’t take any sort of genius to know where he’d gotten them. He slipped back into his jacket and brushed his hair out of his face, his eyes fierce and clear as they locked onto her face.

“Let’s go, I believe I know where we won’t be bothered.”

Veronica fell into step behind him, and once they were outside, Dedue fell into step beside her. They walked quickly, their shoulders back and heads held high, the sound of their boots echoing off the walls. Once they made it into the main corridor, they took the central staircase up towards the solar. As they passed through the parlor, Dimitri’s guests turned to look at them.

Veronica met their gazes steadily, though only Galatea seemed more than mildly surprised to see her there. Her green eyes narrowed and flickered between she and Dedue, mistrust and something that looked like anger radiating off of her. Veronica raised her chin, but wasted no words. They all had better things to do than engage in petty drama.

“Hey Dima, we—”

“Sorry, but it’ll have to wait for a bit. We’re busy,” Dimitri said. His tone was strangely dismissive. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his head.

Dimitri led them to his quarters, through his spacious sitting room, and into his bed chamber. He closed the door and looked out the windows before turning to them. The warm glow of the gas lamps turned his hair a burnished gold, but did little to remove the chilly, distant look in his eyes.

“I trust this is private enough?” he asked. Veronica hummed and allowed herself to sag against the wall behind her.

“It ought to be. With the wards active, they too will have to resort to more traditional methods of eavesdropping,” she said.

“Good. Now, what was it you needed to tell us?” Dimitri asked. His words were rushed, despite his calm expression. Veronica frowned, but pressed on. 

“Your uncle intends to… bring me into the family, if you will. My hand for my uncle’s life.” The silence that settled over them was thick and charged with a current of anger. 

“To who?” Dimitri asked.

“I couldn’t get a straight answer from him. All he would say was ‘ _ the only appropriate choice _ .’ I… admit I have been unable to make heads or tails of it, but I have a very  _ bad _ feeling about it all. He’s  _ planning something _ , but what that is, I cannot say.”

“What did you say?” Dimitri asked. He took her gently by the arms and she stepped away to the side. He’d picked up the strange habit of touching her since they’d returned from their trip. She couldn’t quite understand his reason for it. 

“I told him that I would take it into consideration, and insisted that you and the High Lords be present for the next discussion. He didn’t react much… I don’t really know what he’s trying to do.”

“I have heard nothing of this...I… I don’t know what he’s planning either, but you’re right it doesn’t sound good.” Dimitri shoved a hand through his hair and gnawed on his bottom lip as he gave it some thought. 

“Should we not tell someone else?” Dedue asked. His tone was as calm as it ever was, but she could see concern in his eyes. Veronica smiled slightly, settling herself next to him once more. 

“I’ve already done so. I asked Duke Fraldarius if he knew anything about it. It seems he didn’t. I find that quite odd, they tend to discuss arrangements such as this half to death.”

“This is… deeply troubling. If Rodrigue didn’t know, then it stands to reason that Margrave Gautier didn’t either; and if neither of them knew, then…” he trailed off, shaking his head. 

“Yes. I need a chance to go through his things, but… with all these wards and the thugs he has patrolling the castle, I fear I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. It wouldn’t be  _ impossible _ , but I’ll need a little help,” she said.

“Well… there will be a fair distraction in two days time, what with the ball and all. There are passages the servants use to get around more quickly, you could try to use those.”

“I have…  _ allies _ among the kitchen staff. I ought to be able to convince them to look the other way when they see you,” Dedue said. He hesitated for a moment before casting a glance towards Dimitri. “If I may… invoking your name could ensure better results, Your Highness.”

“Please, by all means. Do what you must. Is there anything else?” he asked.

“There is one other related matter. Those men… the ones in the white and black garb… who are they?” She asked. Dedue shifted beside her, his face going ashen. Dimitri’s jaw clenched. 

“They were there that day. There were others too, mercenaries, maybe; but it had been those people who had led the charge. They came upon us, seemingly from nowhere; and before any of us could truly know what was happening, the killing started.” 

Dimitri’s gaze was far away now, reliving the worst moments of his young life. Dedue’s shoulders shook slightly, as if he were cold. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. She could see in his eyes that he too was once again trapped in that hellish place. She placed a careful hand on his elbow and squeezed. Dedue took a deep breath and released it in a shuddering rush. He nodded once and she stepped away, to maneuver Dimitri towards the bed. His eyes cleared as his bottom hit the mattress, and he took her hand in both of his. He pushed her sleeve up with shaky fingers and stared down at her wrist for a long moment, an air of disappointment in his voice when he spoke.

“I can’t find it anymore.” 

_ Ah. So that’s it. _

“It’s because of the wards,” she said. He let her pull away, and she pulled her sleeve down once more, hiding the strange and hideous way she had been altered. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I have such intense reactions. I… am trying to be stronger.”

Dedue knelt in front of him and took both of his hands, his thumbs rubbing careful circles over Dimitri’s knuckles. Veronica moved away to look out the window instead, giving them time to soothe the hurt she’d caused them. She wanted to tell them that everything would be alright, but she had never been good at keeping such promises. She had three lies behind her, already. She couldn’t stand to have two more.

“Say… Ronnie?” She jolted at the sound of his voice and turned to see him looking at her in a desperate, pleading manner. She waited for him to continue, wondering whether or not it would be too cruel to chastise him for referring to her so familiarly, and whether she should worry about the fact that she liked it. 

He held out his hand to her then and against her better judgement, she came closer. He pulled her down beside him and gestured for Dedue to sit on his other side. She stared at their joined hands in silence, taken with the contrast between Dimitri’s alabaster skin and the black leather of her gloves, and the warm umber of Dedue’s hand. There was a scar on Dedue’s little finger, and a small freckle on Dimitri’s third knuckle. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to commit these details to memory. She could never be sure when she would need to remember them in these small, quiet moments. She knew too well the sting of loss and the pain of realization that she had forgotten something important. It was her hope that she could avoid forgetting anything else.


	11. The Dead Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard arrives in time for Dimitri's birthday, and Veronica and Dedue uncover some unsettling news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter that I have to reuse. From here on, we're on our own kids. 
> 
> Since we're about half way through with this part, I'd like to know what everyone thinks of Veronica. I know OCs can turn a lot of people off a story, so I think it would be interesting to get some opinions.

“Father?” 

Blue eyes flickered up from his work, dim and ringed with dark circles. He’d never seen his father look so tired and pale. 

“What’s the matter, Dima?” his father asked, putting his pen aside. Dimitri crept closer, feeling skittish for reasons he couldn’t quite name. “Did you have that nightmare again?”

“...yes.” He found himself swept up in his father’s arms, settled on his lap. He relaxed and tucked his face against his neck as he petted and rubbed his head. Dimitri smiled as he listened to the strong thrum of his father’s heart, the rush of air in and out. He smelled of parchment and ink, and his arms were strong. So very warm. 

Too warm. Burning. He smelled of ash and steel and blood. There was a terrible gurgling sound and something warm and wet spreading out over his skin, but he couldn’t see. His eyes were blinded by smoke and heat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came; instead he only tasted smoke–bitter and tinged with the taste of flesh. He couldn’t breathe, and the arms around him squeezed so tightly that it felt as if he would be crushed to death before he burned. 

**_You should join us, Dima_ **

***

He gagged and wheezed, finally able to breathe, but the feeling of smoke and ash still lingered in his mouth. He scrambled from the bed and stumbled towards the washroom on unsteady legs. Saliva pooled in his mouth, his stomach twisting painfully. He only barely made it to the toilet before he emptied his stomach. He retched with enough force to send a shock of pain through his head and neck, which quickly radiated outward over his face and down his spine.

The smell of bile encouraged another round of gagging, but soon there was nothing left for him to expel. He gasped for breath between a few more violent heaves before he collapsed onto his side, his face pressed against the chilly floor. He shook and hiccupped quietly, pulling his knees into his chest as he tried to remind himself that it was only a dream. Just a dream.

Usually, he would rise and wander the garden or train, but he was too tired to move. He closed his eyes and counted the breaths, gritting his teeth against the sudden stab of pain behind his left eye and the radiating throb in his temples. Why today? 

_ Please… be patient…  _

His answer came in the form of a stab of pain in his stomach that left him shaking. He breathed slowly through his nose and resumed his counting. Each fresh wave of pain made him need to start over, but they became fewer and fewer, and eventually, he found himself slipping into an uneasy doze on the marble, his head pillowed on his arm, his mind foggy and quiet. 

***

Dedue frowned as his knock went unanswered. Normally, His Highness was already awake, if not already bathed and dressed after training. It was rare for him to sleep past dawn.

“I’m coming in, Your Highness,” he said. 

The room was dark, his bedsheets still rumpled, but he was not in them. Worry lanced through him as he moved deeper into the room. Had he left again? Where would he have gone? To what end? His stomach dropped as he pushed his way into the washroom and was greeted by the faint smell of vomit and the outline of the Prince lying on the floor.

He knelt beside him and touched his shoulder, grateful to feel him tense under his palm. He groaned a little and covered his head with his arm, as though hiding would spare him from the waking world. He was rarely hard to wake, but there were times that he was more like the boy he should be.

“What time is it?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and groggy. 

“It was half past six when I came to check on you. Breakfast is ready, but I can bring yours here if you’d rather not see anyone right now. Her Highness will be arriving within the next hour,” Dedue said.

“I… would appreciate that, friend… I don’t want to make the others wait longer than I already have–” he pushed himself up onto his knees, swooning slightly, “you can just leave it on my end table. See to yourself.”

“Are you certain? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine! Don’t trouble yourself over me, Dedue. I… just wasn’t feeling my best earlier. I’ll be perfectly fine once I have a bath,” he said. His tone was cheerful, but not believably so. It was forced, and almost too loud.

“...very well. Please, don’t push yourself today. I will bring an extra glass of water for you.”

He wanted to argue, but it wasn’t his place. His place was at his back, to protect and serve, never to question. He rose to his feet and bowed, averting his eyes as his liege shrugged out of his nightshirt, as was proper. He felt a surge of shame as he remembered the scars marring his skin, stark and violet against the pale expanse of his back; broader now that he’d grown older and stronger. That he saw fit to risk himself in such a way for a stranger made him akin to a guardian spirit, worthy of respect and adoration. He was his savior.

His chest tightened as the door closed behind him and he was once again alone in the hallway. He always found himself feeling too  _ visible _ when he was alone. As though just standing there without any obvious reason was enough to incriminate him. 

“Dedue?” 

His eyes snapped towards Veronica as she closed the door behind her, blocking the draft from the stairwell. Her placid expression melted away into something uncertain, but warm. Concerned.

“Is everything alright?”

“He’s well enough. He became ill in the night and overslept it would seem,” he said. 

She frowned and came to stand before him, craning her neck to look him in the eye. She studied him in silence, and for the first time since he’d met her, he found himself feeling vulnerable. His Highness had mentioned how she seemed to  _ know _ him, despite how he tried to hide. He understood what he meant now. He averted his gaze, but that only seemed to draw her attention to his unease. 

“Are  _ you _ alright?” she asked.

“I… am. Mostly. There’s little you can do,” he said. She hummed and took his arm, leading him down the hall.

“You’re better at hiding your thoughts than Dimitri. He’s dangerously transparent. I… wonder if perhaps it would behoove us to work with him on it, at least insofar as political matters go. He does well against people who don’t know him, but I worry that he’ll struggle against those that do. He’s a terrible liar.”

Dedue chuckled and held the door open for her, allowing her to take the stairs ahead of him. There were muffled voices from below, but he couldn’t tell who it was. Veronica turned to look over her shoulder, her expression serious. 

“There’s something I want to check on. Meet me in the greenhouse as soon as you can, and make sure you aren’t followed. I don’t want to worry anyone, but we may have a problem.”

She gave him no more than that, she simply turned away and trotted down the stairs. He hesitated only briefly before following after her. What it was she was concerned about, he couldn’t say, but he found himself feeling oddly giddy. Perhaps it was simply the excitement of being trusted and included. The delirious joy of having a friend. He was grateful, regardless.

***

His breakfast sat uncomfortable and heavy on his stomach, enough so that he wished he hadn’t bothered with it. It would have worried Dedue, but at least he wouldn’t be afraid of becoming sick in front of the others. They were already in so much danger… his weakness would get them all killed.

He peered into the distance, squinting against the morning sun. It was a cold morning, as was to be expected so late in the year. He hoped Edelgard was dressed appropriately. He wished he could muster the same enthusiasm he’d felt for Felix, but he was just too nervous. He hadn’t seen her in so long. What if she hated who he had become? What if she no longer called him ‘brother?’ What if she never loved him to begin with? What if–

“Your Highness?” 

His head snapped up and he forced himself to focus on the Steward. The old man’s mustache twitched, a clear sign that he was amused. Dimitri straightened and cleared his throat, fighting the urge to wilt from embarrassment. 

“What is it?”

“Her Imperial Highness will be arriving shortly, should you wish to greet her,” he said. 

Dimitri shrugged into his overcoat and pulled it tightly around himself, taking some measure of comfort in the weight of the fur and wool. He nodded to the Steward to signal that he was ready, and pulled on his gloves and hat as they walked. They made their way down the stairs quickly, but Dimitri faltered as his uncle came into view. He very nearly turned around and retreated rather than deal with him, but grit his teeth and soldiered on. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” the Steward said, bowing low. Dimitri felt his stomach twist at those words. ‘Your Majesty’ was his father, the true King. The man smiling at him now was an usurper. 

_ I’m going to kill you. _

“Good morning, Geoff. Dima, you look a bit pale, are you feeling well?” His uncle’s eyes were cold, knowing. Dimitri mustered a hard smile, the others whispering pleas in his ears as his lips drew back over his teeth.

“Of course! You needn’t trouble yourself on my account, Uncle. You’re so  _ busy _ after all. Are you going to greet Her Highness?” he asked. His uncle’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, his mouth pressing into a thin, firm line. After a few tense moments, he smiled.

“Of course. I haven’t seen her in many years, after all. Come, let’s receive dearest El together.”

They walked side by side, close enough that their shoulders knocked together, but neither were keen on yielding. Dimitri gnawed on the inside of his cheek, choking down his near blinding rage. Every time he felt that man touch him, the desire to reach out and snap his neck rose. 

**_Kill him_ **

_ Not yet. _

**_Kill him!_ **

_ I don’t have enough proof.  _ **_Wait_ ** .

He nearly winced at a stab of pain behind his left eye and blinked as his vision blurred slightly on that side. He kept his gaze forward, but couldn’t quite tell if he still walked in a straight line. The sunlight hurt terribly; he felt as though someone had driven a nail into his eye, towards the back of his head. They put distance between them once in the courtyard, and he nearly sighed in relief.

He waited anxiously as the Imperial entourage poured into the courtyard, circling around the central fountain so that the largest carriage–bearing the heraldry of House Hresvelg–stopped right in front of the stairs. The porter bowed low and spoke in a high, brassy voice.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, I am proud to present Her Imperial Highness Edelgard von Hresvelg, and His Excellency Count Volkhard von Arundell!” the porter opened the door and helped Lord Arundell out, who then in turn did the same for Edelgard. 

Dimitri frowned and narrowed his eyes as he studied her. She had changed in the few years since he’d seen her last. Gone was the sandy hair he had associated with her and their mother. What spilled out from under her fur hat was pale as fresh snow, though still long and well kept. She wore the Hresvelg red and black, rather than the Blaiddyd blue and white, as she used to. He nearly forgot his manners, but managed a stiff bow before it could become awkward. His eyes never left his sister; his stranger. 

Edelgard strode forward with purpose and confidence, her head held high, her breath sending steady puffs of steam into the cold air, but to him it felt as though it were happening in slow motion. She took the steps two at a time, her skirts hoisted above her knees in spite of what was proper and rushed towards him. He held his arms open automatically, and she threw herself against him. Her arms were strong around his middle, and she squeezed him hard enough to take the breath from him; that brought him back to himself. He returned her embrace fervently, leaning down over her, wrinkling his nose as her fox fur hat tickled his face. She was there. His sister, his partner in mischief, was there.

They held each other fiercely, as though squeezing one another would soothe the pain of their loss. They pulled back and he saw that her eyes were the right color, even if her hair wasn’t. They were still that soft lavender he remembered so well. She smelled of snowdrops and the bright, tart scent of citrus. It was a fragrance only made there in Fhirdiad… it had been their mother’s favorite. She was home.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. She smiled. It was a little tired and thin, but it was there in her eyes.

“I’ve missed you, too. So much.”

A cleared throat pulled them back to the situation at hand, and it was like a curtain had been pulled closed. The warmth fled from her as she turned to their uncles. He bit the inside of his cheek and followed suit. 

“It’s wonderful to see you again, El,” Uncle Rufus said. Edelgard curseyed, but remained close to his side, unwilling to be embraced. They never did get on. He turned his attention to Uncle Volkhard and was perturbed by the changes he saw once more. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he seemed cold and vacant somehow. His eyes were hard and Edelgard seemed to purposefully avoid his gaze. What had happened to his family? Did the Tragedy do this, too? Did he hate him for surviving while his sister didn’t?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of Edelgard gripping his arm, “Forgive me, Uncle Rufus, but Dima and I have much to talk about,” she said. She didn’t look back, and she didn’t give him time to either. Her grip on his arm was such that he was sure a normal person would feel pain.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“ _ Shhh _ .”

He waited. He allowed her to pull him along, her grip on him never loosening. He knew where they were going; it would be the first time he’d visited since They had been laid to rest. He didn’t like the cemetery; the ghosts were loud there, more present. His head still ached, and it would only come to hurt more there. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Edelgard needed to see it for herself. This wasn’t for him. 

They walked down the well kept flagstone path, towards the most recent addition; by all the Blaiddyds of the past. The Royal cemetery was a mishmash of ornate mausoleums, fine marble sepulchers, engraved monuments, and simpler graves dug by the ancestors long before the name ‘Blaiddyd’ was synonymous with ‘King.’ He led Edelgard down a path towards a more secluded area near the back. There, beneath a drooping willow, was a slab of white marble and a matching semicircular bench that invited the grieving or tired to rest. 

His father had requested a more modest and comforting resting place long before now, when his birth mother had passed away. He maintained that he wanted to be buried beside her; and so, fourteen years later, he was. Dimitri read the names engraved there: Natalia Cardiff–Blaiddyd, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, and Patricia von Arundell–Blaiddyd. He tried and failed to ignore the ache of loss.

“Dima?”

He tensed at the sound of his name and had to remind himself that Edelgard was there. It was her that had spoken, he was fairly sure.

“Yes?” It felt wrong to speak here.

“I need to know the truth… did they suffer?”

He clamped his jaw against the wave of nausea, his skin feeling both cold and blistered in the wake of her question. Everything in him screamed at him to refuse her, but he couldn’t. She was his sister, and she was hurting. This knowledge wouldn’t stop the pain, but it would allow her to heal, maybe. His discomfort was nothing next to that. He opened his mouth, but no sound came. There was only an aching, swallowing silence. Not even the birds dared to sing. He tried again, and once more had to clamp his jaw at the sick feeling rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, searching for something,  _ anything _ to anchor himself to. He found it in the sensation of something warm and old beneath his feet. 

Magic. They hadn’t placed any wards in the cemetery it seemed. He thought that maybe it was coming from the protective charm he’d been given before they’d gone to Duscur, but he couldn’t be sure. It crept over his skin and soothed the pressure behind his eye, and stirred the magic he carried within. He found his voice.

“Father didn’t suffer long. His wounds were grave, but his death was quick. Mother… I do not know for certain. She gave her life to protect me, after Glenn fell. I am told she was found barely clinging to life, but died soon thereafter of her injuries. I… am sorry, El.”

Edelgard took a deep, shuddering breath and looked down at the grave for several silent moments. Dimitri focused on that magic and found himself fascinated by it. He still didn’t fully understand it, and it was difficult to learn with all the wards in place, but feeling it there beneath him made him feel stable, and less lonely. He would need to tell Veronica later. He imagined it was even more stifling for her, who was so used to feeling it everywhere. 

“What about you? How badly were you injured?” she asked.

“I… am lucky to be alive. Anyone more fragile than I likely would have succumbed,” he said. He could remember with perfect clarity how it felt to be ripped open by those blades, the harsh blow to the back of his head, the burns. He’d been unable to see properly out of his left eye for weeks.

He was surprised by Edelgard’s enraged expression. Did she hate him for surviving when so many they loved did not? What could he do to appease her? 

“Who is responsible for this?” Her voice was low and hard. He had never seen her so angry. Her anger had always been more like their father’s–quieter, and slow moving–it was rare for her to wear her fury so blatantly. 

He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted her to know, but was it safe? Would telling her simply endanger her and accomplish nothing else? He tensed when she took his face between her gloved hands, her touch careful. 

“Dima… if you know something then  _ please _ . Tell me.”

_ They didn’t put wards here for a reason. _

“Not here in the open. Come with me.”

He took her hand carefully and led her away from the stillness of their parents. He knew where they could talk. He didn’t want to go there, but she deserved to know; and they had business there anyway.

***

He found Veronica in the greenhouse, in the far left corner, among the young potted saplings of olive and fig trees. She didn’t turn around when he entered, which he found odd considering how vigilant she always seemed. He was sure she knew he was there.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence as he drew nearer, but she only cocked her head towards him slightly; a sign that she was aware of him, but disinterested in turning to look his way.

“Come here, I want to show you something,” she said. Her tone was taut, and it set his teeth on edge.

He followed her finger and after a moment, he noticed a spot in the corner where the earth had been turned over, a broken paving stone covering the spot. It was easy to miss there among the clay pots and other white stones. If he’d not had it pointed out to him, he wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss.

“What is it?” he asked. 

“A dead drop. I saw a maid behaving strangely last night while I was walking after supper and followed after her. She took something from there, though I don’t know what.”

“Is that what you meant earlier?” Dedue asked. 

“Mmhm. A scullery maid wouldn’t be a terribly unusual sight near the greenhouse, but her behavior was suspicious. She was nervous and hurried, and tried to hide her face when she saw me. I would think she was doing this under someone else’s orders, but one can never be too sure.”

Dedue hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. Veronica knelt and moved the stone, rooting around in the loosened soil for a moment. She wiped her gloves on her trousers, humming thoughtfully. 

“What do you propose we do?” he asked. 

“We need to talk to her and see if she knows what was here. I have a very bad feeling about it. She could lie, of course, but… I believe I could apply the proper pressure and get an answer, I just need to get her alone.”

“Do you know which girl it was? I could pass along a message and have her come here.”

“Yes. She wears a knitted gray shawl and has brown hair. She’s about this tall,” she indicated her height with her hand, holding it just beneath her chin. 

A spark of recognition jolted through him. He remembered the girl in question. He could easily remember hearing the Duscuran cook Graca speaking to her a few days prior. 

“Her name is Tabitha, I believe,” he said. “I’ll send for her… I’ll tell someone that the head gardener is looking for her and has asked that she come here. You… aren’t going to hurt her, are you?” he asked. 

“Not unless she makes me. It has been long acknowledged that torture yields little of use. Most people will simply tell you whatever they think will make the pain stop. You needn’t worry.”

“I’m glad,” he said. Veronica leaned against one of the heavy wooden tables covered in potted seedlings, her expression thoughtful. 

“Do you know anything about her? If not, then we need to learn more before we proceed. If I have  _ nothing _ then she may feel bold enough to lie to me, or simply walk away without telling me anything. I need to know her habits, her beliefs, whether she has any family. I need things I can  _ use _ .”

“I’m afraid I don’t. I only know her name… Graca in the kitchen may know more. We could talk to her instead,” he said. She nodded and straightened, brushing by him as she made her way to the door. 

“Let’s go. The quicker we get this over with, the better. We should probably warn a few people not to consume anything in the meantime. Will you do that while I talk to Graca?” she asked. He nodded and followed after her, feeling only marginally guilty that he would need to worry His Highness. “Be as discreet as you can be. Try to be back here soon, I’ll need someone to guard the door.” 

Veronica sped off in the direction of the kitchen, her black hair gleaming warmly under the cold winter sun. Her health had improved significantly in the time that he’d known her. Though still thinner than she likely ought to be, the cut of her coat made her returning strength evident. He allowed himself to be pleased by that for a moment before he hurried away in the other direction.

***

The girl’s eyes darted between her and the door, her breath coming in quick gasps. She was like a terrified rabbit in a trap, out of energy to fight, and out of room to run. Veronica could just make out Dedue’s broad back through the frosted glass of the greenhouse door. If nothing else, she wouldn’t simply escape. Veronica smiled what she hoped was pleasant and calming, as her parents had taught her, but recently she often felt as if her mouth was full of knives. Pleasantness didn’t come naturally. 

“Hello, Tabitha. I have some questions for you.”

“I’ll not speak to the likes of you, witch,” she said. She took a step back, but flinched when she realized there was a table behind her. Veronica didn’t move, to avoid spooking her further. She wouldn’t tell her anything useful in this state.

“It seems to me that you’re in some terrible trouble. I understand that, truly I do. I can help you, but you have to tell me the truth,” she said. Tabitha’s face paled slightly, but she remained silent. “His Majesty is lying to you, Tabitha. He has no intention of keeping his word. You know this. You’re smart. Let’s drop the pretense and speak frankly, as women. Whatever he has offered you will be withheld, whatever promise he has made will be broken, and you will be left holding the bag full of his misdeeds. It will be  _ your _ neck the blade comes down on.”

“Hold your forked tongue, I have nothing to say to you!” Her shoulders were shaking, and her hands were clasped tightly at her chest, almost as if she were praying. She ignored the pang of annoyance she felt in the wake of Tabitha’s insults. Now was hardly the time to get defensive over things that were mostly true.

“Tabitha, I know you have a son. Is that why you’re doing this? Because you’re trying to protect him?” she asked. Tabitha sobbed, the sound pathetic and hard on her ears. Veronica pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to her, smiling as she took it and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “There, there. I know how it is to be desperate to protect someone you love. I can help you, but you  _ must _ be honest with me. I need you to tell me everything you know. Take a deep breath and calm yourself.”

Tabitha did as she was told and took several deep breaths. They began as hurried gasps, but soon she was breathing normally, and her eyes were sharper and more focused. She no longer looked ready to faint or run.

“He promised me money if I helped him,” she said. 

“Yes, that sounds like something he’d do. I’m sure it came with strings he didn’t tell you about. What was it that you were retrieving from there–” she pointed at the dead drop, “last night?” Tabitha took a shuddering breath. 

“It was money. A lot of it. I don’t know what it was for, but… I know that something is going to happen after His Highness’ birthday. I think he’s planning to kill Duke Fraldarius or attack the territory. I overheard him and that other man–the dark haired one–talking about it only a while ago.”

Veronica frowned and crossed her arms, chewing her lip in thought. That would make sense, she supposed. If he were seeking to usurp the throne, then the first big play for power would be to surprise everyone by taking out the second most powerful player. 

“Was there anything else?”

“There was a letter, but I didn’t get to read it. It was sealed with wax and unaddressed. The wax was black and it looked to have been pressed with a signet ring… like an eye,” she said. Veronica straightened, feeling uneasy as a hazy recollection came to her. Had she seen something like that before?

“Now  _ that _ is interesting. Do you know anything else? Anything at all. I need as much information as I can get. What about the Margrave? Is he courting him for a potential ally, or is he in danger as well?” 

“I don’t know about that, there might be someone else who does but not me. I know he’s been courting certain rich merchants and certain folks among the dregs. He had me take letters and money to people sometimes. He fed me a line about creating a society without Crests and moved on to threats when he saw I wasn’t keen to betray anyone over pretty words.” 

_ A line indeed _ .

“I see. I have only one more question. What do you know about his entourage? I’m sure you’ve seen them… the ones in white and black.” 

“I don’t know much. They’re his personal guard, but I don’t know much else. I know they don’t have any manners or regard for other people, and I know they seem to think they’re above the law, but I couldn't begin to tell you who they are.” 

It seemed she would just need to ferret that out on her own. Whoever they were, they were absolutely involved in all this. It didn’t sit well with her. She needed to get her hands on that letter.

“I told you everything I know. Now what am I going to do? If he finds out–” 

“Don’t worry about that. Come with me and don’t draw attention to yourself.” 

She led the way to the door and knocked, and Dedue opened it for them and together, they hurried towards the solar. Tabitha had to take long strides to keep up with them, but she managed. No one spoke. It would be unwise to say anything. They slowed their walk once inside. The Prince’s personal guards and a maid wouldn’t draw much attention from the rest of the staff, as long as they didn’t seem to be hurried. If the staff didn’t get spooked, it would be less likely that they’d talk. 

No one was in the parlor despite the inviting fire. She wasn’t sure where they all were, but it didn’t matter to her. As long as they weren’t there to get under her feet, she didn’t much care. The hallway was empty as it so often was at this time. Veronica pulled the key to her room from her pocket and ushered them inside, locking it behind her once more. She knelt, flipped the rug up at the corner nearest the wall and drew her knife, and carefully, so she didn’t mark the wood, pried one of the boards up. She reached into the shallow cubby and pulled the velvet pouch out. She reached in and pulled a carved token out.

“Gather your son and take only what you need from home. Take this token, make your way down to the lower third. Show it to the doorman at the Three Keys Inn, and go to the bar once you’re inside. Ask to speak to Geraldine. Give her the token. She’ll put it on my family’s tab and get you out of the city. Do whatever she tells you to do. No matter what it is. Do you understand?” she hissed.

Tabitha nodded and palmed the token, tucking it away in her apron pocket. Veronica replaced the pouch and board, laid the rug down flat, and rose to her feet. She placed her hand on Tabitha’s shoulder and leaned down to look her directly in the eyes.

“Leave immediately.Talk to no one. Never speak of any of this. If I find out that you’ve done so and betrayed this contract between us, Rufus Blaiddyd will be the least of your worries. Do you understand me?” she asked. Tabitha gave her a jerky nod and turned away, letting herself out silently. Veronica took a deep breath and met Dedue’s eyes for the first time since they left the greenhouse. 

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” he asked.

“As long as she can follow directions, she should be. It’s us I’m worried about. I hope you’re good at playing dumb,” she said, crossing her arms. Dedue hummed a small, tight smile spreading over his lips. 

“I won’t need to try very hard. They already assume I am.” 

“Well just this once, we’ll be glad for it and pretend we don’t know anything. Come on, we need to speak with Dimitri.”

***

It was too tidy. Everything was as it had been the day they left for Duscur, but nonsensically dustless. It was as though the press of time was afraid to disturb the room without them in it. Edelgard clung to his arm, as unsettled by the tidiness and silence as he was. Despite the warm glow of the gas lamps, the room still felt too cold and vacant. Dedue’s unsettling warning didn’t help matters. What did he mean by ‘don’t eat or drink anything’ what was going on? He shook his head and forced himself to focus on the current task.

He opened one of their mother’s wardrobes and removed the first gown he saw. It was some sort of pale peach affair, clearly meant for summer. He threw it on the bed and did the same with a pale green one. Their mother had always been enamored with pale colors. He found he liked them too.

“What’s this about?” Edelgard asked.

“We need to go through their things and… decide what to sell. Uncle has a stranglehold on the treasury, and people are still struggling. I… have no other avenue. I’ve given what I had to the effort already. Uncle seems unwilling to lend them aid, but completely comfortable bribing priests.” Edelgard’s brow crumpled in confusion as she studied the mound of dresses on the bed. 

“Dima? Is… Uncle Rufus  _ involved _ ?” she asked. He was, as always, grateful that she picked up on things quickly. 

“I don’t have any solid proof of that yet. I can only tell you that he… has  _ benefited _ greatly from Father’s death and has made himself quite comfortable beneath the crown.” 

A muscle twitched in her jaw and her eyes flashed angrily across his face. Her cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet and her shoulders shook, but her voice was steady when she spoke.

“I see. How can I help?” she asked. It was more of a demand, but he didn’t mind. He could never deny her, especially not when she spoke so firmly.

“I’ll introduce you to Dedue and Veronica later, when it's safe to talk. I’m sure they’ll not complain about having an extra pair of eyes on the problem. Now… shall we get this done? It would seem that they’re going to be busy for a time.” 

Edelgard sighed and ran her hand over the green dress, her gaze thoughtful. He didn’t know much about fashion or exactly what sort of fabrics the gowns were made of, but hoped that Edelgard was better versed in it than he.

“Let’s get it done.”

***

“El, this is Lady Veronica of House Llwyd, and my good friend Dedue Molinaro,” Dimitri said. She and Dedue bowed, but said nothing as they settled themselves on the loveseat adjacent to the sofa. It was a tight fit for the two of them, but if she had to be squished into an awkward space, she was glad it was with Dedue.

“It’s nice to meet both of you, Dima has told me good things,” the Princess said.

“Now… can the two of you please tell me what’s going on? Was there something wrong?” Dimitri asked. Veronica glanced between him and the Princess before making uncertain eye contact with Dedue. How much should she reveal while  _ she _ was there? Was it safe to share this with her there? Her uncle was perhaps connected, after all. “It’s alright. El knows about Uncle. Please, tell me what’s happened.” Veronica sighed and rubbed at the back of her neck. 

“We… have received some…  _ unsettling _ news. It seems that your uncle is perhaps plotting against Duke Fraldarius. I don’t have anything absolute–yet–but the maid he’d coerced into playing intermediary between himself and some…  _ unknown _ group overheard him talking about something to come after the ball.” She looked at the Princess pointedly, her eyebrow arching. “He was speaking to Lord Arundell, I believe.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Uncle Volkhard has been… off somehow. I don’t really know how to say it, other than he’s  _ changed _ .” 

Veronica relaxed slightly. That she didn’t seem angry or perturbed was a good sign. She was observant and seemed distrustful of both men. 

“She says there was a letter sealed with black wax, imprinted with an eye like sigil. I don’t know of its contents, so I think I’d like to find it and see what I can learn. She also told me he seems to be trying to turn the Crestless poor and merchant class against you and the other Lords, Your Highness,” she said. Dimitri huffed and rubbed his hand over his face. 

“So he’s using their anger to gain an army of sycophants, then? Dima… is that why you’re so adamant about helping the people right now? To try and keep their loyalty?” the Princess asked. 

“Well, that’s certainly part of it, but it’s also my duty as their Prince. If Uncle isn’t going to ensure they are fed and warm, then I must.”

“Let’s go over what we know, just so that we’re all on the same page. My family’s informants went silent right before His Majesty was to depart for Duscur. During the massacre, His Highness was attacked by a man using a sword bearing the heraldry of the Duchy of Itha. Those men in black and white were there, and the first to begin killing. When my family was attacked, there were strange people that didn’t seem to belong to any known group. It was too dark for me to identify anything pertinent, and they were all hooded. The Regent attempted to bribe a member of the Western Church, he has made a strange demand for me to be married into House Blaiddyd, and now… we know there is a potential threat against House Fraldarius and he is courting those without Crests that may be amenable to revolt. Those are the facts that we currently have, correct?” Veronica asked. 

“That sounds like the broad strokes, yes,” Dimitri said. Veronica frowned as the Princess studied her intensely, her eyes seemingly focused on her hair. There was an odd look on her face.

“So what do we do with it, now that we know this?” Dedue asked. 

“We need to break one or two of the silencing wards tomorrow night. Preferably on the same hall as his study. That way if I must use magic, I can. No one will notice immediately, so I should have a little time to work with it. We’ll need to find them. Your Highnesses, you’ll likely get the fewest odd looks if you’re wandering around there,” Veronica said. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that…” Dimitri’s voice was small, ashamed. As though it was something he should know, despite having never been given the training. 

“I do. Hubert showed me. You just mark through them with chalk or remove a small part of it, if possible.” 

Veronica nodded, smiling in spite of herself. It had been too long since she’d seen her cousin–since their grandfather’s funeral, ten years ago–the help of a von Vestra would have been very much appreciated.

“Then I’ll leave the wards to you, El. I’ll keep the guests distracted, and see if I can’t keep our uncles occupied. Dedue, will you help me?” 

“Of course. I’ll guard your back, Your Highness,” Dedue said. 

“Good, then we all know what we’re doing. I’ll do what I know best. I’ll leave immediately after the first dance of the night. Once people have had some time to drink.” 

The Princess hummed then, a pleasant smile spreading over her face as she leaned back against the cushions of the sofa. Veronica felt herself tense as she appraised her, and raised her chin, waiting for whatever inane thing she was about to be subjected to. 

“You really are very much like Hubert. It’s a pity he couldn’t be here. I imagine he’d be thrilled to have a kindred spirit.” 

Hubert had been far more keen to speak with Sebastian, as most people were. He’d not been terribly interested in her, and she doubted that had changed much in the ten years hence. 

“I… thank you, Your Highness. I hope he’s well,” she said. 

“He was ill when I left. It was nothing terribly serious, but we couldn’t delay. He looked pitiful,” the Princess snickered. “You look very much like him, though you’re far prettier.” 

_ Pretty _ . She hated that word. She clenched her jaw and bit back the instinct to snap. She had heard everything people had to say about the way she looked. There was no reason to have such a conversation. 

“Please, send him my love when you see him next, Your Highness.” She spoke through gritted teeth and hoped no one noticed. It was dangerous to show weakness, even among friendly parties.  _ Especially _ then.

_ These people aren’t your friends. _

They all jolted as a firm knock fell upon the door, but Dimitri recovered quickly and rose to open it. He stepped aside, a confused, mistrustful look on his face. A tall, dark haired man stepped inside and her stomach turned as the sense that she’d seen him somewhere before hit her. 

“Edelgard, Rufus and I need to speak with you, it will only take a moment.” 

_ Cold stone beneath her knees and the bite of steel around her wrists and ankles. Children crying. Roisin’s hair falling out in clumps. Weylin bleeding from his nose. Daphne… Daphne? _

“Ronnie? Ronnie?!” 

Her eyes snapped towards Dimitri and became aware of something firm and warm pressed against her cheek. Dimitri looked horrified.

“What?” Her own voice sounded far away.

“You fainted. Are you well?” Dimitri’s voice was panicked. She was only just aware that it was Dedue’s arm she’d slumped against. Her nose was bleeding. Dedue had pressed a handkerchief to it and tilted her head back slightly to stem the tide.

“...forgive me… I don’t feel well.” She tried to stand, but her knees hurt terribly and gave out. Dimitri caught her easily, and she leaned heavily against him. She was tired, she didn’t want to think about why; she just wanted to sleep. 

“You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still recovering,” Dimitri fussed.

“I’ll take her to her room, Your Highness.” 

She wanted to argue in her indignance as he scooped her up in his arms, but her mouth felt as though it was full of steel shavings. The taste of that man’s voice… she knew it. She let her head fall against Dedue’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She would worry about it later, when she could think clearly again. She focused instead of Dedue’s steady gait and the soothing sound of his breathing.

***

_ The sun beat down hard on the back of his neck, scorching his pale skin despite how cold it was. So cold it hurt to breathe. There is the smell of fire and the roar of men at battle. There is the brassy wail of warhorns and the braying of hound and horse. Inside, there is only tumult. Screaming, pain, pleas, Duscur. A voice, both familiar and not, pleading for justice. No…  _ **_revenge_ ** _. There is the crunch of bone, and a body falls. Not the one he wants. Never the one he wants. More would die before then. _

She woke with a start, feeling weightless in the way only dreaming can bring. But it hadn’t been a dream. Not really. Not this time. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, still dressed as she had been that afternoon. She shoved on her boots and laced them before checking herself in the mirror. Her hair was hopeless, but Dedue, in all his kindness, had wiped the blood away from her face before he left her. She needed to find Dimitri. 

She had never intended to tell anyone about her gift. It had simply been deemed too dangerous, but this needed to be shared. Something was coming, and if she had seen it, then it was likely that it wouldn’t be long. They needed to find a way to stop it, or else… she walked more quickly. She wouldn’t be the reason it caught them off guard.

She padded her way down the hall, quick and quiet. She didn’t know what time it was, but she could hear familiar voices drifting up from the stairwell. People were still awake. They sounded enthusiastic and happy. She took the stairs quickly, still unsteady from her sleep.

“Ronnie! You’re awake!” Dimitri seemed to be in high spirits. They all did.

_ It’s because you weren’t here. _

“We saved you a plate. The cake is divine,” the Princess said.

“What–?” 

“We heard you fainted earlier. You should take better care of yourself, we were worried,” Lord Gautier said. 

“Er… apologies? Um… Your Highness, I need to speak with you and Dedue. Privately. It won’t take long,” she said. Dimitri and Dedue rose and made to follow.

“You’re all coming back, right? We were just about to play a few hands of cards,” Lord Gautier called.

“Just wait a moment, Sylvain. We’ll be right back.” 

Veronica waited for Dimitri to open the door to his quarters and followed him all the way back to his bedchamber. It was strange to be invited in so casually, as though she belonged. 

“What’s wrong? You look out of sorts,” Dimitri said. 

“I… hadn’t wanted to tell you, but I don’t see much choice. I… have the gift of foresight. I have since I was just a girl. And… something big is going to happen soon. A battle… I don’t know why, but… I think we’re about to go to war.”

“Hold on… I thought you couldn’t use magic because of the wards?” Dimitri asked.

“It… it isn’t magic, not in that way. It’s a secondary effect of my Crest, not unlike your enhanced fortitude. I can’t control my visions, they only come to me when I sleep… and they’re often incomplete. Mother was working with me to hone this ability, but… well. You already know what happened.”

Dimitri and Dedue looked at her in thoughtful silence for a moment, but she could see the question in their eyes. That terrible, terrifying question.

“Did you know that it would happen?” Dimitri asked. His voice was soft, but it carried a warning. She knew to tread lightly now. No one was truly safe, and without her magic, they could kill her easily. 

_ Choose your words carefully, Girl. _

“We tried to warn your Father. We came here and told him that we hadn’t heard from our contacts, but he insisted that it couldn’t be put off, and that he needed you and Her Majesty present as a sign of peace. There was little else we could do,” she said.

She braced herself and closed her eyes as he took a step forward. She didn’t want to see it coming. She peeked through her lashes at him when nothing came. He looked horrified, his hand pulled back tight against his chest. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ronnie. Never on purpose. Don’t be afraid… I… only wanted to thank you,” he said. His voice was so soft that it hurt her. So few spoke to her like that. 

“For what? I’ve done nothing.”

“You were the one who gave Father the protective charm, weren’t you? He told me a girl gave it to him,” he gave her a chagrined smile, “I believe he was attempting to tease me.” He sobered then, holding his hand out to her. She didn’t know what he wanted. “You’ve saved my life thrice now. That’s worthy of thanks, I should think.”

She felt her face go hot as he and Dedue smiled at her, their gazes warm and affectionate. How did they stand to be so open about these things? What had she ever done or said that led them to believe she  _ wanted _ it? Dimitri pressed a chase kiss to the back of her hand and she nearly shoved his face away in her embarrassment. 

“You don’t know what causes this battle?” Dedue asked. She relaxed, grateful to him for changing the subject.

“No, I’m sorry. Most times, I only see short snippets of possible outcomes. If I had to guess, it has something to do with what we learned today. It may be that protecting Duke Fraldarius may be enough to avoid it, or it may in fact be the reason we get to have it at all. Regardless, I feel that his survival will be important for more than just any personal reasons we may have.” 

“I’ll try to warn him when I see him, though we’re definitely going to need something to prove our claims,” Dimitri said. 

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open, and… don’t be careless. We all need to be able to fulfill our roles, after all.” Veronica shifted awkwardly on the spot. She didn’t know what to do with all the feelings inside her, so she chose to choke them down and ignore them. If she didn’t acknowledge them, they wouldn’t survive. “Don’t give too much away, Dimitri.” Whether she meant their secrets, or that which made him who he was, even she couldn’t say.

“Call me Dima.” 

“What?”

“ _ Almost _ all of my friends and family all call me ‘Dima,’ you can too,” Dimitri said. She didn’t miss the way Dedue shifted, as though Dimitri had put him rather pointedly on the spot.

“Oh for the love of–don’t push your luck.”

Veronica crossed her arms and huffed, glaring down at her shoes. These idiots would embarrass her to death before anyone else got the chance to harm her. She smiled in spite of herself, shaking her head slightly. 

“Let’s… get back to the others. I think I could use that cake right about now.” She tried her best to sound annoyed, but she had the suspicion that they weren’t fooled.

_ How bothersome. _


End file.
